We Don't Get Fairytales
by gryffindorkxx
Summary: "What happened?" I could feel the words coming. I didn't want to say them. Saying them meant that it was true, and I would give anything for it to not be. "I killed him."
1. My Fault

**Okay, so this is an idea that just came to me. Please review! :) **

**Disclaimer - If I owned Gallagher Girls, I would've gotten rid of Josh since he seems to have no purpose in the storyline right now. **

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><p><em>It was my fault. It was my fault. <em>

I sat in my chair, quietly mumbling to myself that same sentence over and over again. The stainless steel table in front of me was ice cold and as I waited, my fingers drummed on its surface.

_It was my fault. My fault…_

I didn't care anymore. My natural light brown hair was slowly growing, contrasting with the black. My eyes were no longer hazel, but the dark brown I'd always had. I was shedding my cover, and a few days ago, I would've cared. But now, I don't.

_My fault…_

I could hear the heels clacking on the floor. I winced with every step, as the clacking transformed into a bullet firing. The door opened, and in walked the source of the clacking.

"Hello, Cameron. Nice to see you again."

I looked up to see a woman with dark hair and dark eyes. She was still the same in appearance, only now, you could see the faint lines of stress and fatigue etched onto her face from many years of working in this business.

"Hi, Mom."

She pulled up a chair, and sat in front of me. Each sound was amplified in this room: maybe because of the walls, but probably due to shock.

She just stared at me. I sat there, my breathing heavy and biting my cuticles. My makeup was obviously smudged, and I obviously looked like some raccoon-human hybrid, but my mother just shrugged it off and kept staring.

The sounds I'd heard the past few days kept playing repeatedly in my head: the shots, the explosion, the heels clacking, and that sentence seemed to have been put together in some odd sort of song that had been stuck on replay without a 'stop'.

"What happened?" My mother's voice interrupted the song playing in my head.

I didn't know how to reply. What could I say? She knew the facts. She knew she sent me on a mission. She knew I completed it. She knew that I had been gone since junior year, and Anne St. James was just another cover I'd learned to use.

The shock had overcome me: I kept biting my cuticles, shaking for the longest time. I couldn't answer. I didn't want to answer, but somehow, three words were begging to be released from my mouth.

"Cameron Ann Morgan, I asked you: what happened?" She said again, this time louder and firmer.

I could feel the words coming. I didn't want to say them. Saying them meant that it was true, and I would give anything for it to not be.

"Cameron, what happened!"

I opened my mouth, and a soft murmur came out.

"I can't hear you; louder, please."

Another murmur.

"What?"

"I killed him."

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><p><strong>Good? Bad? Let me know! I'll update a new chapter when I get 5 reviews. :) <strong>

**-S **


	2. Undercover

**Hey guys! It's me! I am so sorry for not updating earlier! I had half of this written on Monday, but I couldn't finish it cause of school. (School projects suck, by the way.) So since I had no homework today, I finally got to writing the rest. I hope it doesn't suck too much! Please review! **

**Disclaimer - If I was Ally Carter, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction. I would be writing GG5, which needs to come out. Like, now. **

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><p><em><strong>rewind: a month before…/**_

I remember when I first came to Langley for my first debriefing in sophomore year. I remember when Polygraph Guy asked for my name, and I replied, "Cameron Ann Morgan." Now, I was coming back to Langley. Not for a debriefing, not for an interrogation, not even as Cameron Ann Morgan.

No, Cameron Ann Morgan disappeared and in her place came a new CIA field agent, Anne St. James.

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><p>Everything was the same as it had been when I was 16: the black granite tiles contrasted and alternated with the white marble, and the silver seal of the CIA's motto still hung on the granite wall. People passed, carrying newspapers and carefully trying not to spill the hot coffee. I made my way to the security guard, who then asked for my name.<p>

And it felt weird to answer "Anne St. James," despite living as her for the past 5 years.

As I made my way through the building to find the Department of Clandestine Operations, I couldn't help but think that I was finally here. I spent all those years in the Gallagher Mansion, training for the day I could become active. And today was that day.

I found my desk, and sat down, looking for people I thought I might know from Gallagher. So far, no one I knew, but there was someone I thought was Grant, but turned out to be a girl. No comment.

"Uhm, excuse me?" Someone asked from behind, "Are you Anne St. James?"

"Yes, I am." I turned, and I swear, though spies should be prepared for everything, nothing prepared me for that.

"Welcome to the CIA. I'm sure that you will be a very useful operative. I'm the head of the Department of Clandestine Operations, Anna Fetterman."

Let me take a minute to explain it for you: Anna Fetterman. The girl who gave herself a bloody nose by opening a can of Pringles. The girl who made Liz look like James Bond. Anna Fetterman, the Head of the Department of Clandestine Operations? Need I go on?

I was obviously caught off guard, but being a spy, I smiled and shook her hand.

"The Director would like to see you."

I nodded and followed her, keeping a close distance until I found myself alone at the door of the Director's office. I brought up my hand to knock when a soft voice told me to come inside.

"Ms. St. James, welcome."

I sat down and read the name on the desk though I didn't need to. "Director Morgan."

Even after five years, Mom looked the same. Her dark hair was growing the slightest of grays, but I swear, Mom's got some anti-aging gene in her blood.

"We will begin this meeting when Operative—Ah, Ms. Sutton, impeccable timing."

I couldn't believe it. I finally saw one of them. Liz looked the same: blonde hair, blue eyes, extremely thin frame that I will never be able to have because of Peanut M&Ms.

She smiled at me, and for a second, I thought she recognized me, but instead she held out her hand and said, "Elizabeth Sutton, Liz for short, though."

"Anne St. James," I shook her hand, as my stomach churned slightly. I may be a spy, but that doesn't mean I will lie to my friends.

"Alright," Mom chimed in, "now that we're all acquainted, let's begin."

She sat back down, while Liz pulled up a chair beside me.

"Now, you both may be wondering why you are here." Mom folded her hands on her desk, "Both of you will be participating in a mission."

"What is it?" I asked, excitement building.

"Um," Liz interjected, "I'm not a field agent."

"Please let me finish." Mom said, "Ms. St. James, you will be traveling to Paris for your mission. Every few days, you will contact one of our agents, in this case, Ms. Sutton here, to inform her of your findings."

"But," I suddenly realized something, "It's my first day here. Wouldn't you use one of the more experienced operatives for a mission?"

"You see, while in training, you were one of the best we've seen at the Agency. You aced every test in training. We felt that you were best suited for this mission." She smiled.

I smiled inwardly, thinking that those years at Gallagher did pay off. Of course, they don't know that, but still.

"Now, if you accept this mission—" Mom began.

"Of course!" Both Liz and I said in unison. I looked at her from the corner of my eyes. There was excitement in her eyes, and a tiny tinge of sadness.

"Excellent," She continued, "Now, let's get onto your mission objective."

I was on the edge of my seat, about to fall off from all the things I'd been waiting for happening in my first day.

"There was a scientist in France, you see, who created a new chemical. However, this chemical is lethal. If you add the right combination of chemicals, it's pretty much the atomic bomb in liquid form." Mom explained.

I crinkled my eyebrows. "So, do you want me to get that?"

"No. We sent one of our operatives already to bargain with him. However, the Operative didn't call after to report if the mission was successful or not."

"What happened?" Liz asked.

"We can't be sure. But we believe that the Operative may have been compromised and is currently running from the French Government."

"So what exactly is my mission?"

"Your mission, Ms. St. James, is to find and extract the Operative. We're not sure where they are, so you will meet with one of our operatives placed there for extra back-up." Mom replied.

"Alright."

Mom slid over a portfolio, complete with identification, and my cover. Anne St. James, an innocent tourist and definitely not a spy.

"So, where is this operative I'll be meeting with?"

"They're currently in Paris, getting a head start on this mission. You'll meet with them in a few days." She sat down, and fixed her pencil skirt.

"Wait, who's the Operative I have to find and extract?"

Mom thrust two folders: one to me, the other to Liz. She gasped, and I could see why. I didn't need to read the paper; I just needed to look at the picture.

You know that moment where you really want to do something but you just can't? Well, in that moment, I wanted to gasp and yell, but I couldn't.

Mom lowered her head, her voice softer. "The Operative is Macey McHenry."

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><p><strong>Good or Bad? Review and you get virtual cookies. (:<strong>

**Tell me what I did good and/or did bad on, and I'll love you forever. **

**Watch out for a Hunger Games one-shot/Harry Potter one-shot! **

**Thanks for reading, lovelies! (: **

**-S**


	3. City of Love with a Duchess

**Hey! (: **

**So, I decided to write another chapter! I would usually post it on Fridays, but since I got many lovely reviews from my lovely readers, I decided to post it today! **** And it seems that all—well, hopefully not all, but some—are quite baffled as to what's happening. So, I'll explain. **

_***T**__**his is kind of like a continuation to GG4, but instead of writing GG5, I decided to go forward in the future. This is five years after Cammie left Gallagher. She's still hiding from the Circle, so instead of staying as Cammie Morgan, she became Anne St. James. No one knows who Anne St. James is. They (Cammie's mom, Liz, etc.) believe that Cammie's dead. **_

_**The first chapter was Cammie in the interrogation room. What I mean by ****"**She knew that I had been gone since junior year, and Anne St. James was just another cover I'd learned to use.**"**** is that Rachel finds out that Cammie's actually Anne St. James later on. She doesn't know that Cammie is Anne. Do you guys get it now? **_

_**Alright, so if any of y'all have any more questions, ask moi. (; **_

**Disclaimer – I can't think of a witty disclaimer right now so, blah, blah, I don't own Gallagher Girls. **

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><p>After I walked out of that room, everything was amplified. I could clearly hear the clacking of heels and the shuffling of papers around me. I walked back to my desk then, most likely shaking and out of it. I looked three desks behind me to see Liz, staring at the floor, a stunned look on her face. I was debating in my head whether or not to go up to her and ask if she was okay.<p>

In the end, I decided that I should. One of our best friends was missing and we needed each other. Even if I did the same thing Macey did. Even if I went missing on purpose.

"Hey," I smiled, "You okay?"

"I'm good." Liz smiled back, the smile not reaching her usually bright blue eyes which stared back at mine.

Even after six years at the Gallagher Academy, where Liz aced everything from Advanced Encryption to Countries of the World, Liz had yet to master the art of lying.

"No," I blinked, "You're not. Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," She replied shortly, a vague coldness in her voice. She turned towards me and stared, most likely scanning my face.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing … you just … remind me of someone. Someone I used to know."

Her eyes brimmed with tears but I pretended not to notice. I couldn't help but think that it wasn't just about Macey anymore. It was about me.

_I wish I could explain, Lizzie. I did it for you. For everybody. _I thought, _Please don't be mad. _

But Liz, naïve little Lizzie, had enough abandonment; and in that moment, I wanted nothing more than to rip off my contact lenses and show her that she wasn't alone. To show her I was here.

But instead, I just accidentally on purpose dropped my pen.

"Oopsy Daisy," We said simultaneously as we bent down to pick it up.

I picked it up and walked away. And from the corner of my eye, I saw her expression change from puzzled to amused as the corners of her lips turned into a faint smile. And I knew that subconsciously, Liz knew that I was in some way, there.

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><p>I did think about them while I was gone. I thought about them constantly.<p>

I imagined them sad for a while, but knowing that they had to get over it. They had to get over me.

Bex, Liz and Macey would graduate school without me. They would laugh and gossip like teenage girls would do, until suddenly Graduation would sneak up on them. Then, the laughter and gossip were put on hold for a day, because they would remember that I wouldn't be graduating with them. But after, they would go on to live successful lives as agents for Langley. Maybe during their career, they would fall in love and have children. Children I would never see.

I worried most about my mom. Like Liz, she had her fair share of abandonment: not knowing if Abby would come home, Dad, and now … me. I remember when Dad died, she would cry at night, wanting someone to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay. But no one would. Then knowing that we couldn't be alone after that, I would curl up beside her in her bed, her stroking my hair until her fingers stopped when she fell asleep. Then I would assume Dad's position, holding her, letting her be the weak one for now. But after I left, who would do that? She was the strongest person I knew, but I knew she had had enough.

Then after I would think about my friends, and my mom, my mind would often drift to a certain Blackthorne Boy. I would scold myself … but I couldn't help it.

I wonder, how is he? What could he be doing now? How did he react when he found out that I left? And most importantly … did he ever think about me?

"Flight 265 to Paris is now boarding at Boarding Gate 7G." A voice on the intercom announced, luckily interrupting my thoughts before I could stray too far.

I stood up, and dragged my luggage as I walked briskly to the boarding gate. As the attendant asked for my passport and boarding pass, I flashed it before quickly entering the plane to find my seat, and prepare for seven hours of peaceful sleep.

However, as I sat down, and prepared for takeoff, there was a certain … aura about the plane. I looked around, and everyone else seemed to be relaxed, though my instinct was telling me something felt different from this plane than another. And through the seven-hour plane ride, I kept on guard, watching if there were any terrorists on board or a bomb.

Nothing happened. I sat stiffly in my seat as I surveyed the premises. When the pilot landed the plane and everyone unbuckled their seatbelts to retrieve their luggage, I did as well, still not at ease. I guess my seatmate must've sensed my tension because he turned to me.

"Are you alright, Miss?" He asked.

I noted his height (about 6 feet) and his facial features (salt-and-pepper hair, slight stubble around the jaw, and deep blue eyes) while I smiled and lied, "Yes, I'm fine. Just a little apprehensive of flying."

"Alright," He replied, dropping my luggage on the floor while someone accidentally knocked it over and left with a gruff "Excuse me."

I dragged my suitcase along with me, as I exited the plane and the feeling of uneasiness. And as I looked around the airport, I expected nothing but French people speaking rapidly and the smell of pastries in the air.

I didn't expect a very French-sounding voice to say, "_Bienvenue en France!_"

I definitely didn't expect to see the source of the welcoming: a _British_ girl with black hair and caramel-colored eyes.

"_Es-tu Anne St. James?"_ She asked me, verifying whether or not I was Anne St. James.

"_Oui, je suis elle." _I confirmed, almost feeling guilty for lying to my best friend. The girl who was supposed to know me inside and out.

But that's what spies do. Spies lie. Spies do bad things for good reasons. Which made it a bit easier for me to smile and walk into the City of Love, with a Duchess.

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><p><strong>Good? Bad? Review, please! <strong>

**Isn't my French impeccable? Actually, no, lol. I take French in school, but other than that, I would probably get beat up in France. **

**So, do you guys know who welcomed Cammie? Well, if you didn't get the last line, it was Bex. I decided to add another character. **

**And for all you Zammie fans, don't worry, I have a feeling another **_**character**_** will be debuting in this story. (Not sure when, but **_**he **_**will definitely make an appearance!) (; **

**Review, and you will get your favorite box of cookies in the mail. And if you don't like cookies, then I'll bake you cupcakes. If you don't like cupcakes or cookies, then you need to check yourself into rehab because cupcakes and cookies are the best things ever to happen in life. **

**Yes, I am a weird person. My parents are aware of the child they have birthed. **

**ANYWAY! Review, please!**

**-S **


	4. Caged Peacock

**Hey guys! **

**So, I wrote another chapter for my lovely readers. I kinda rushed this one cause I really wanna get into that whole _post-a-chapter-a-week_ habit, and I think I can handle that, so yeah.  
>Sorry if it sucks, k? <strong>

**Oh, yeah, the part with Zach and the whole _I-killed-him_ part, that'll come later. I've got a lot planned for that. (;**

**Disclaimer - Just pretend that I had a really witty sentence saying that _I don't own any of the Gallagher Girls_ right here. **

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><p><strong>Flashback; <strong>

"C'mon Cam, let loose!" The girl in front of me had said.

Ever since the incident with the Circle, I had known that Macey was meant to be a spy. Even though academically, she was behind, I knew that Macey had caught up with us unofficially. She had covers of her own, three of which I had seen already: the spoiled debutante that had gotten kicked out of every private school in America and walked through the Gallagher doors a few years before that moment; the beautiful teenager who understood me, helped with boy problems; and the girl who was broken physically and emotionally.

And though I had seen that broken girl everyday after the incident, even through a curly red wig and brown contacts, I had never seen more of my friend Macey in that girl.

Her lips curled into a smile, her freckled cheekbones prominent. She twirled and her red hair had almost come undone, but she had quickly fixed it before it fell off completely.

"Mace, we're undercover," I had replied in my black wig and blue contacts, not in the slightest resembling Macey, "I can't let loose. We're on a mission."

"Exactly, we're undercover! No one knows us!" Macey had sighed, "I feel so free."

Every girl in America would kill to be Macey McHenry—including myself—but the Gallagher walls did their job. They secured our cover, our secrets. And that's why that day, I had stopped wanting to be Macey. I had seen underneath her cover. I had seen that she wasn't just a girl who could become a model effortlessly, she was a caged peacock.

"Hey," A voice had said behind us.

We turned, and a boy stared back. Macey was relaxed, while I, on the other hand, stiffened. I knew the consequences of a boy getting in the way of a mission all too well, and I was determined to prevent it from getting too far—like drive-a-forklift-through-a-wall-almost-killing-Mr. Solomon far.

"Hey," Macey replied in a flawless Southern accent.

"Do you like water?" The boy had cocked an eyebrow after.

Macey and I exchanged looks. _What the hell?_

"…yes?" We had responded, sounding more like a question than an answer.

"Good," the boy had smiled, "That means you already like 73% of me."

I had giggled while Macey smirked. "Cute."

"I'm Nick." He had offered a hand, "And you beautiful ladies are?"

I snorted at this: This was obviously directed at Macey. Despite my best effort of turning Macey into a chameleon, she still had boys fawning over her.

"Tiffany," I shook his hand, "Tiffany Walker."

"Carly Walker." Macey crossed her arms over her chest.

"So, from your accent, I can tell you're not from Virginia." Nick observed.

"Just visiting Roseville. Family reunion, you see." 'Carly' looped her arm through mine, "I'm from Nashville, actually."

"Ah," He nodded, "How long you staying for?"

"Stayed a few weeks, going back in three days." Macey lied.

"Any chance I could treat you—oh, and your cousin here, I'm guessing—to some ice cream?"

"Sorry, I'm lactose-intolerant."

"A burger?"

"Vegetarian."

"A—" He began.

"Look, you're a real sweetie, but I've got a boyfriend in Nashville." Macey smiled.

"Oh, alright," He softly smiled back, defeated, "See you around … hopefully."

He spun on his heel and walked away while Macey and I walked in the opposite direction.

"I don't understand why you're still considered a ninth grader," I had commented, "After that performance, you should be a junior."

"After a while, you get used to it," She shrugged.

Add another cover to the list of aforementioned Macey covers.

**End of flashback;**

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><p>"So, how long have you been here?" I attempted to break the awkward silence between Bex and me.<p>

"Just finished a mission a few days ago," She replied, keeping her eyes on the road.

"What happened?"

"That information's classified." She smirked.

The silence came back as Bex swerved severely on a corner and drove off quickly before one of the men on the side could swear at her in French. Same old Bex.

"And you didn't get a break? I would've thought the Agency would've given you one."

"Oh, no, I requested this mission. I heard before that Macey—I mean, an operative, went missing." Her voice softened the tiniest bit.

"Why did you request it?" She turned to me as I continued, "I mean, you don't know me. And yet, you knew you would be stuck with me as a partner."

"You're not too bad, I think. You haven't come at me with a knife or a gun yet, so I've got a pretty good feeling about you." She joked.

I smiled. "But that doesn't answer my question: why'd you request _this _mission?"

"…I guess I just don't want to have someone go up to their family's door and break the news that their daughter or their sister or their something isn't coming back." Bex had stiffened before she said this, her grip on the steering wheel firmer.

I don't know if it's just because she was my best friend or I was a spy, but I knew that wasn't the whole truth. I saw the truth in her eyes and the words she wanted to confess but she couldn't say.

_I just can't lose another one. _

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><p>"So, what do you have so far?" Liz asked on video-chat a few hours later.<p>

I was settling into the hotel room the Agency had covered for us. Nothing too big: just a kitchen and a living room outside the two bedrooms connected by a door we could close, a bathroom in each bedroom specifically for us. I cleaned the drawers with some disinfectant wipes before putting stacks of my clothes inside while Bex was on my bed, munching on some chips.

"Liz, I just got here!" I smiled.

"Calm down, Liz, she'll catch up eventually." Bex said through a full mouth of Cheetos.

It was uncanny how Bex and I warmed up to each other so fast. She didn't even mind me calling her Bex, which by now, I couldn't help. We weren't the same as before, but even after a few hours of talking to her, I thought that I had known her my whole life before realizing it was true.

The topic of our childhood and our life before the CIA came up and I told her. Of course, I couldn't tell her everything but I told her vague details.

"Where'd you grow up?" She had asked me.

"Moved around a lot. D.C, mostly." I had shrugged.

"Why'd you decide to be an Operative?"

"Just doing a service for my country. It just feels like … the only way I could serve, you know? What about you? I can tell by your accent, you're from London."

"I grew up here, attended a private school for girls, and joined the CIA. I … was prepared, you could say." She had said.

_I know exactly what you mean, Bex_.

"So, what can we do first?" Liz asked.

"Pull up some files on Macey for us, Liz." Bex suggested.

I heard a lot of typing on Liz's end while I continued to put my clothes in the drawers before Liz finally exclaimed, "Got some!"

"Read it out, please."

"Okay, um, Operative Macey McHenry … last in Paris, France …" Liz's eyes scanned the computer screen, her voice softening now, "Status: MIA, possibly compromised … no address in Paris."

"So, how do we find her?" I asked.

"Well, there's no evidence she was killed—" Liz spoke up.

"…but there's nothing to say she _wasn't_." Bex sighed.

"I'm positive she wasn't." I replied, "There would've been something in the news, right? Someone would've taken credit for the murder."

"True," Liz perked up a little, "Which brings us back to … how do we find her?"

"So, the possible scenario is that Macey came here; then someone found out about her and compromised her. So she could be hiding here."

"But she would try to get in touch with Langley, wouldn't she?" I speculated.

"Yeah, but she probably couldn't find a safe line." Liz said.

"And she couldn't be Macey McHenry anymore in a place where Macey McHenry turned out to be a spy for America and became the most wanted person in France …" Bex's eyebrows were knitted together in thought.

"So, she would assume a new identity right?"

"Yeah," Bex agreed, "Lizzie, try searching Macey's previous covers within Paris, maybe we'll find something."

"It'll take a few days, guys. Probably … 3-5 days. Anna's really been breathing down my neck, and I've been developing a new prototype. Really classified."

"Oh, alright, we'll call you then. Bye, Lizzie." Bex clicked the X in the corner of the screen.

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><p>The next few days were difficult: I had trouble adjusting to Paris time, even though they were only 6 hours ahead; my hair was turning brown, and I had to find a pharmacy to buy some hair dye without making Bex suspicious; and it was hard to think that every single day wasted was a day closer to possibly not finding Macey.<p>

Which was why I was so relieved to hear from Liz, four days later.

"Okay, so I pulled up her previous covers: the one she used in Russia, Italy, you name it." Liz massaged her temples. "And I got nothing."

I sat back on the bed, rubbing my eyes, racking my brains to think.

_C'mon, Cam, where could Macey be? A better question would be: who could Macey be? _

Something dawned over me. "Liz, run a search on 'Carly Walker'."

After a few minutes of nothing but the sound of typing, I was so relieved to hear her say, "Got something."

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><p><strong>Please review! <strong>

**Oh, and if you guys could give me some really good fanfics to read, I'd like that. I've been looking for some really good ones for a long time.  
>If you want me to check out yours, I will. :)<strong>

**Please see my profile for people I ship.**

**That's it, I guess.**

**kbye! (:**

**-S **


	5. Fingerprints, Aliases, Familiar Faces

**helloderrr(; **

**Okay, so hopefully, you wonderfully awesome people who read my stories can forgive me for not posting this earlier. **

**I just finished writing this because ... just a lot happened these past weeks: family issues; my computer decided to wipe my hard drive, therefore erasing all my documents on the computer and forcing me to start _FROM SCRATCH_; etc. **

**But now, I'm on summer break, and I'm planning on finishing this story before school starts. I'm saying about another 5-6 chapters? **

**Also, I'm writing (okay, gonna start) an H/Hr one-shot, and I'm probably gonna post it soon. **

**ANYWAY, enough of me, I know you've been waiting to read this chapter. Actually, I doubt people actually read my author's notes. **

**But whatever. Just **_..._** read. **

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><p>"The most recent intel I've got of Carly Walker is that she checked in a motel on the corner of <em>Rue Privét <em>and _Rue Chandelle_."

"How long ago was this?"

"About three weeks ago."

"We're on it."

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><p>Bex and I were in front of the motel, completely shocked as to Macey's choice of residence. You know those motels in those horror movies where everyone gets killed? Yeah, that's this motel.<p>

We entered and saw a tanned blond about two years older than us, talking on the phone in rapid French.

"_Oui, oui. Attends,_" He said into the phone, then faced us, "_Qu'est-ce que puis-je faire pour vous?_"

"_Carly Walker?_" I replied, "_Est-ce qu'elle reste ici?_"

"_Oui,_" He nodded, "You are American, _non_?"

"Yes, we are," Bex replied, "What room is she staying in?"

"_Chambre 712,_" He pointed down the hallway, "_Mais, _she has not been in for a while now."

"We're just going to drop something off," We nodded, "_Merci._"

I guess my watch wasn't on properly because as Bex sped into the room, she accidentally hit my wrist and it fell to the ground. I knelt down to pick it up, and I felt the man's eyes on me. I looked at his reflection in my watch, and sure enough, he was staring, and his hand was inching closer and closer to the phone, as if waiting for me to be out of sight to phone someone.

It seemed fishy to me, but as I heard Bex call my name, I had no choice but to put my paranoia aside to investigate.

"What's wrong?" I asked when I caught up with her at the door.

"I forgot my lock-picking kit in the room," She said, "Do you have a bobby pin to pick it?"

I pushed her aside, took one out of my hair, and in matter of seconds, we were in.

"Whoa, Macey may not be the cleanest, but she's definitely not a pig." Bex remarked.

I agreed: She would never leave her room in this much of a mess. Not like clothes were scattered everywhere. As in, furniture was broken, glass shattered on the floor.

"You'd think they'd come in to do some housekeeping or something." I said, closing the door.

"I guess Macey didn't want anyone to come in so she must've requested none," Bex sighed, stepping over the broken glass. "C'mon, we have to investigate."

I pulled out two gloves and tweezers from my bag, and gave one of the gloves to Bex, who scanned the premises for anything unusual.

I knelt down and picked up a shard of glass, then dropped it into a small plastic bag. "Maybe whoever broke this left some prints."

Bex came back from the room, "The room's clean. Nothing but some clothes that could only be Macey's. No blood or body."

My anxiety at Macey's possible death was still not quelled, considering that even if she's not dead here, doesn't mean that she's not dead somewhere else.

"She's not dead," Bex said, reading my mind, "She would've been in the news."

"I guess." I sighed, "But that means she was kidnapped."

Bex nodded, and we paused for a second, not moving. Not doing anything.

I broke the silence when I said, "It doesn't seem like there's any sign of forced entry. The window's accumulated some dust on the sill; the door's still intact."

"So, that means she knew her kidnapper." Bex decided, "Check her mobile for messages. I'll check her laptop."

Bex headed back into the bedroom while I walked over to the coffee table to check Macey's cellphone. I scanned through her messages, and found she was contacting Anna (probably to clear any news that she was dead) and a few text messages from a guy named Nico Martin.

I shut the phone and headed to Bex, who was typing vigorously on the laptop.

"Took a long time to find out the password," Bex kept typing, "Turns out it was just _peacock_."

I smirked. "Find anything?"

"Not really," She replied, "Just normal stuff."

"Okay, well, I guess that's all we can do." I sighed, "Do you wanna take her laptop so we can get Liz to look at it?"

"Nah, it might tip off someone, carrying it out," Bex said, shutting it.

We made our way out of the room, and passed by the man, who tipped an imaginary hat at us while I responded with a slight smile, not forgetting the earlier incident. Do all boys do that 'I-know-something-you-don't' smile? Because, I swear, he almost looked like Zach (despite the blondness) as he kept his eyes locked on mine and smiled.

I shook it off though, thinking that we were possibly one step closer to finding Macey and who kidnapped her. I needed to have something else on my mind other than boys.

* * *

><p>"Did you guys find anything?" Liz asked, the next day over webcam.<p>

"Well, I didn't," Bex shrugged, "How about you, Anne?"

"I got two fingerprints off a shard of glass in her room, so I took a picture and sent it to you. Also, I looked through Macey's phone, and I found someone named Nico Martin. Run it through whatever database you can hack into."

"On it, guys," Liz said, typing away on the keyboard.

While Liz tried hacking and Bex was talking to her, I replayed the whole day in my head: I pictured the man, trying to remember him. He seemed more Italian than French: his sun-kissed tan; his bleached hair; his vaguely Italian attempt at a French accent. I remembered his hand, itching to pick up the phone and call someone, but staring at me, waiting. Waiting for me to leave, almost. But I looked closer in the still picture in my brain, and I noticed something on his left wrist: black … a tattoo, I think. A tattoo of something familiar.

I tried to look even closer, but Liz broke my concentration when she exclaimed, "Got something! You guys should get it your phones … right … about … now."

Our phones beeped and we took it out to look while Liz continued, "Alright, I didn't find anything on 'Nico Martin'; but I decided to take a chance that 'Nico' was a nickname for 'Nicolas'. So I looked up 'Nicolas Martin' and found this."

I stared at the picture, and was brought back to that night: that night in junior year when a boy came up to Macey and I. That night when that boy asked us (mostly Macey) if we liked water and if he could take us out for ice cream or a burger. And right now, I was staring at _that boy_.

"His name's Nicholas (with an 'h') Carter. He worked for Langley before transferring to the NSA."

"Hmm," Bex's eyebrows arched, "That's kind of odd, don't you think? He made it into the big-time and he suddenly decided to transfer?"

"You know what's even odder?" Liz looked at us, "_Nico Martin _is a registered alias of his, and one of the fingerprints you sent me matched his."

"Okay, well, we've got our prime suspect. Does he have an address?" Bex asked.

"Well … you see …"

"Spit it out, Lizzie."

"… He went rogue a year ago, and now, no one knows where he is."

"Great, another dead end."

"Actually, I do have some good news …"

* * *

><p>"Well, there's this guy that Langley got a hold of today—imprisoned, really—that apparently knows your guy." Liz explained. "Coincidentally, they were supposed to meet up about three blocks from where you're staying."<p>

"Does Nicholas Carter know he's imprisoned?" I asked.

"Probably not. They're trying to keep it secret. The only reason I know is because Anna told me to tell you guys. Just in case they need someone to meet up with him."

Bex smiled mischievously. "Well then, I think it's time to pay a visit to Nicholas Carter."

* * *

><p><strong>Good? Bad? Lemme know in the reviews. <strong>

**So, pondering my thought about how no one reads my author's notes, if you actually do read them and are going to make me happy by reviewing, please include in your review: **_the name of your favorite song by your favorite band/artist. And I'll tell you what I think of it! (: _

**K, that's it. I'll start writing the next chapter on Wednesday, and hopefully, post it on Friday. ;)**

**kloveyouguys;  
>-S<strong>


	6. Encounter

**'ello! :) **

**Okay, so, I'm kinda proud of myself for updating _twice_ in one week. (Can I get a what-what?)  
>So, hopefully, this'll make up for my ... disappearing off the face of the Earth. <strong>

**On another topic, did y'all see the HP premiere in London? I was seriously gonna cry.**

**But anyway, y'all aren't here to hear me talk, so you can read on. **

**(Also, I kinda forgot to listen to the songs, but I know some of 'em, and they're pretty awesome songs!) :)**

**ANYWAY, ONWARD! **

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><p>"Why do I have to do it?"<p>

"Because, from previous encounters—well, Macey—it looks like he's got a thing for raven-haired girls."

"So? You've got black hair, too! Besides, you're way better than me in flirting, and … stuff like that."

"But we need someone who knows how to work Liz's system."

"I can learn."

"Oh, c'mon, Anne, grow a pair and just do it!"

"I can't grow a pair; I'm a girl!"

* * *

><p>And … yeah, that's how I got stuck into honeypotting Nicholas Carter. After about 10 minutes of that, I decided that we would never get anywhere if we kept this up; and since Bex is the best spy when it comes to stubbornness, I would be meeting Nicholas.<p>

"Okay, so," Bex said, giving me a tiny box, "There's a tracker in this ring. That way, just in case you … relocate, I'll know where you are."

"Mm-hmm," I nodded, tugging at the bottom of the dress, wishing for the length to increase, "Really, can't I use a more … comfortable dress? A longer one, to be exact?"

"Oh, stop being such a prissy," Bex rolled her eyes, "Now, let's run through the op."

"Operative St. James will be meeting the Target at the rendezvous point, guising as the original contact. The Operative will be looking for any Intel the Target is offering, especially about Operative McHenry. Meanwhile, Operative Baxter will be … wait, what are you doing?"

"I'll be monitoring you. I'll be a block away from the scene: I've got listening devices in your earrings, so I can tell you what to say; a mic in your necklace, so I can hear what he said; basically, I'll just tell you what to do."

"Oh … alright." I shrugged.

"Also, it's pretty old, but Liz fixed it up, so … here." She handed me a watch. My grandmother's watch, to be exact. "It may look like an ordinary watch, but it can take pretty high-res pictures."

I nodded as I put on the watch, and she continued, "Please don't lose it. It belonged to … a friend."

And then, she suddenly became all quiet, with a look in her eyes. She wasn't Bex, the British spy who could probably kill 3 men twice her size then; she was Bex, the girl who lost a friend.

The silence became awkward, and I spoke up. "I still think we should switch spots."

But as quickly as that girl showed, she vanished. "No, you're all made-up and ready to go."

"Now, it's time to stop being Anne St. James and become Alex Johnson."

* * *

><p>Bex and I drove to where she was staying, a tiny café with free Wi-Fi. She set up the laptop, and when she finished, I declined her offer of driving me to the rendezvous point, which I seriously started to regret after walking a block in Bex's heels. (Note to self – kill Bex later for making you wear these shoes, if you don't get killed from them first.)<p>

I looked at the piece of paper I had scribbled the address Liz had instructed when we last talked to her a week ago. It was the place … and the place was a bar?

I walked in, the place filled with tired workers getting a drink to numb the pains of their day, girls in skimpy clothing (not that I could judge cause … well, I had to be one of them today for the good of my country), and over-sized testosterone attempting (but failing epically) to score with aforesaid scantily clad women.

I looked around for the contact, while Bex's voice rung in my ear. "Anne, you in position?"

"I'm at the point, but no sign of the Target," I whispered, my eyes surveying the area.

My head craned everywhere, looking, when an arm snaked itself around my waist. Before I could respond (by flipping my attacker over) I looked at the arm's owner, and two eyes I had seen before stared back.

"Well, then, would you like to go someplace … quieter?" He asked, his English accent flawless.

I smiled, slipping into my cover. "Why not?"

* * *

><p>We made our way into a small room near the back, with two couches (that looked like they hadn't been cleaned in … well, ever) and a table separating them.<p>

Nicholas sent for a two glasses and a bottle of red wine, which was delivered by a waitress, which he winked at before she left.

I reached for the bottle, when he snatched it away. "Tsk, tsk, it's bad luck to pour your own wine."

"I'm a big girl: I can pour my own wine."

He poured a little bit into mine then into his, while I sipped it and he swirled it around in his glass. "Well, I'm pleasantly surprised … all this while, I thought Alex Johnson was a male."

"Were you sad I wasn't?" I arched an eyebrow.

He looked at me up and down, taking in everything from the dress Bex made me wear to the makeup. "Absolutely not … this is infinitely better."

The corners of my lips twitched into a smile. "Well, I have to say, I'm pleasantly surprised as well … all this while, I thought Nicholas Carter was a female." I smirked sarcastically.

"Aha, very funny, Ms. Johnson," He scoffed, taking a swig from his glass.

I crossed my right leg over my left, and studied him: he looked like the boy from junior year. I noted the little details: the way his blond hair curled up at the ends; his sea greenish-bluish eyes; the way his nose was, as if he broke it a few years ago.

"Like what you see?" He asked conceitedly.

"Don't be too full of yourself, Carter," I decided to stay on a last-name basis, "I'm here for business."

"So am I, Johnson," He swallowed and set his empty wine glass on the table, "So, what do you have?"

I momentarily paused which is when Bex decided to speak up for the first time that night, _"Don't give him anything. Let him do it. If anything, write an address on a sheet of paper and bluff!"_

"Nuh-uh, you first." I leaned forward, and raised an eyebrow threateningly. "_Carter_."

"Well, Ms. Johnson," He began, ditching the English accent he'd been using since we met, then leaned back in his seat. "What would you like to know?"

"Whatever you're willing to say."

"First of all, I'll need your word that you won't scurry off after our little encounter."

"Oh, I promise."

"You see, that's not good enough for me." He took out a device from his pocket, "I've got security at every exit in this place. So, trying to escape is completely futile."

"What, you don't trust me?" I put on an innocent face, waiting for his answer to my question, which was in the form of silence, "Good call."

Afterwards, he started talking about Intel he apparently gathered, which is funny, considering I even knew about it, and I wasn't active for 5 years. So, I kind of just tuned him out while he continued to talk. After about 500 years (really, a half hour), he finally said something that peaked my interest.

"…you heard that Langley had an Operative in Paris that's missing, right? My sources tell me that that Operative is Macey McHenry."

I replaced my eagerness for knowledge with fake shock. "McHenry? Isn't that the Senator's daughter? She was working for the Agency?"

"It's his kid, alright. Apparently, my sources tell me she was." He scratched the bridge of his nose.

And then I saw it: something black on his wrist, like the manager in the motel we visited a week ago. A tattoo of three rings intersecting horizontally, however: the first ring had the left half missing, the middle whole, and the third had the right half missing. I thought it was suspicious, so I used the watch to covertly take a picture, which I noted to show Liz.

"Did your sources know her location?"

He shook his head, "Nuh-uh, that's all you get, Ms. Johnson … until I get _my _Intel."

So I decided to take Bex's advice: I took a napkin, and I started to write an address on it, when I heard _it. _I heard Bex's voice faintly from the chip in my earring, and then … static.

I handed him the napkin, "You'll find the intel you need in a silver briefcase. Will you excuse me for a second? I need to go to the Ladies room."

He took it, and I stood up to walk to the washroom. I burst into the vacant room, and ran into an empty stall.

"Bex, Bex," I whispered, "Do you read me?"

But all I heard was static.

I groaned, and left the stall.

I fixed the curls in my hair, made sure that my makeup was okay, and straightened out my dress. When I finished, I made my way to the door, preparing to leave.

Until I heard a deep voice—a voice that _definitely _didn't belong in the ladies washroom—say, "You shouldn't be here."

* * *

><p><strong>Y'all like this chapter? :) <strong>

**And some of you guys say that the guy in the motel was Zach? I'm really sorry if I like, confused you, but ... sorry, it's not. :/ **

**Anyway:**

_** if you absolutely adored this chapter, lemme know in the reviews.  
>if you hated it and want to scream at me, reviews, please!<br>**_

_**And if you've been silently reading, hi there, drop me a review! :) **_

**So ... that's it. **

**loveyou;  
>-S<strong>


	7. A Circle Has No End

**Hellooo! (:**

**'Kay, so I don't really have anything to say, but I guess I'm writing this author's note out of habit. But I hope y'all enjoy this one! (: **

**Chapter is dedicated to - **_lilmsnoyes_,** cause I got a really sweet message from 'em. (: **

**And also, to my lovely R&R-ers. (: **

_keep calm and read on-;_

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><p>I gulped as my breathing got heavier, my pulse faster, and a shiver ran through me. I had secretly been hoping it wasn't him the whole time, but judging from my reaction to merely <em>hearing<em> him, it was pretty obvious it was him.

I turned around, and I was torn between hugging him or hitting him, but I kept a poker-face instead. Oddly enough, my voice hadn't disappeared like I had thought, so I found I could say, "I shouldn't be here? Erm, it's the ladies toilet … I'm pretty sure _you _shouldn't be here."

He looked down for a second before looking up at me with a familiar smirk. "I mean, _here. _With _him_."

"Well, excuse me," I scoffed, remembering that maybe Cameron Morgan knows this man but Anne St. James doesn't, "Considering the fact that _I don't know you_, I don't think you have any right as to who I should associate myself with."

He rolled his eyes, and looked at me. "C'mon, it's only been five years … I'm sure you couldn't have forgotten me that easily … _Gallagher Girl_."

I stumbled back onto the counter, my fingers running over it while my mind played over the moments I had heard Zach Goode call me Gallagher Girl. For a moment, it seemed like no time had passed since I had last seen him, but as I compared his appearance now to when I saw him last, I had to admit that the time had flown.

He was the same, but different: he seemed thinner, (muscular, but not too prominent); his skin was olive, not charred like when we escaped from Blackthorne; a bit of stubble was growing across his defined jaw line; and his thick ink-like hair fell messily over his dark eyes that seemed ageless.

But as the hazel stared into the brown, I distinctly heard a familiar cackle, and I could almost feel myself running from the explosion … then falling. I shook my head and forced myself to face the boy in front of me.

"I don't know this _'Gallagher Girl'_." I said, sticking to my cover, "I'm sorry, have we met before?"

"Okay, fine, if you want to do it this way." He sighed, rolling his eyes again before offering a hand, "Zachary Goode. And you are?"

"Alex Johnson," I replied, shaking his outstretched hand.

"Really? I was looking for Anne St. James. Or Cameron Morgan." He smirked, "I thought they were in here somewhere."

"Well, I'm sorry, Mr. Goode," I apologized, remembering all of my Culture & Assimilation training, "You must have mistaken me for someone else. There's someone waiting for me, so please excuse me."

I started to head to the door, before he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, his eyes locked on mine. He wasn't joking anymore; his eyes seemed sincerely … scared?

"Seriously, Gallagher Girl," He stared intensely, "You need to get out of here. _Do not _trust this guy."

"Let go of me before I call security," I broke free from his grasp, "Now, please excuse me."

I walked out the bathroom door, and risked a glance back where Nicholas and I met. I wasn't following what Zach said. It was just … well, being a spy is 10% protocol and 90% instinct. Right then, my instinct was telling me that I probably wouldn't get a break like this if I went back … and so, I slipped back into being the Chameleon for a while, waiting until a group of girls exited the bar while I discreetly slipped out with them, avoiding the security team that Nicholas apparently had at every exit.

My heels clattered against the concrete ground as I tried desperately to contact Bex. After a few minutes of unsuccessful attempts, I took off my heels and headed for our hotel. Bex had said earlier that if we ever got separated, we had to meet back at the hotel. Most probably (I hoped), she was there already.

I smiled at the concierge politely before entering the elevator and pressing '17'. I was deep in thought as the elevator rode smoothly up, and I would have missed my floor if it hadn't dinged loudly. I unlocked the door, confident Bex was inside, but was met with an empty room.

"Bex?" I called, "You in here?"

Silence.

"Bex, seriously, if you're going to sneak up on me or something, please don't."

Nothing again.

I sat down, contemplating what to do before dialing Liz's number on my mobile to ask her.

_Pick up, pick up. _

"Hello?"

"Liz?"

"Oh, hey, Anne, what's up?"

"Have you heard from Bex or something? Did she contact you?"

"Not since our last conversation, why?"

"Um, it's fine, maybe she's just out at the café or something."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's fine. But if she does call you, just … keep me posted, okay?"

"Sure, Anne, bye."

I hung up and decided to tweak the tracking signal in my tracker to find Bex, and was halfway done before I heard the phone ring and I picked it up, hoping it was Liz with some Intel about where Bex was.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Ms. St. James? It's the concierge downstairs."

"Ah, hello." I replied.

"Yes, there is a call for you on one of the lines. You can answer it by pressing the star key and '7'."

"Alright, thank you," I said before proceeding to press the buttons.

"Hello?"

Silence.

"Hello, is anyone there?"

"_Let go of me … get off! I will punch your face in and you will be peeing your teeth!" _

"Bex? Bex, where are you?"

_Another voice rasped weakly, "Bex?" _

"_Macey? Oh, my god, what happened to you?" _

"Bex? Macey? Where are you?"

"_C'mon, girl," A gruff voice said, "Let's see how long you can scream." _

"_No, let go of me!" Macey grunted. _

"Macey!"

"Sorry to keep you waiting, hello." A voice said.

"Who are you, and why do you have Bex and Macey?"

"That doesn't matter for now. It's no use trying to tweak your tracker to find Rebecca. But if you do want to see them again … Corner of Rue Paix and Avenue Lyon—tomorrow, seven AM. Come alone." The gravelly voice croaked before I was met with the tone on the line.

I was trying to take everything that just happened in, thinking of any other choices I had. I couldn't just leave them … despite being best friends with them, it was the right thing to do and they would do the same for me. I was thinking of a strategy, before Liz called back.

"Liz? What's wrong?"

"Um, I just got a call … you know that guy who just called you? He called me, and um, he, uh—"

"Liz," I soothed, "Calm down, relax, shh …"

She kept hyperventilating as she continued, "He told me everything. He told me that you were gonna meet him tomorrow … Anne, call for backup, trust me!"

"No, Liz … I can't. He told me to come alone."

"Oh, Anne, please be careful!"

I didn't know what to say so … I lied. "Don't worry, Liz, I'll be fine."

"Oh, um," She sniffled, "I also got a hit from that picture you sent me. The tattoo?"

"Mm-hmm," I nodded, eagerly waiting.

"Um, I dunno if you've ever heard of them, but, uh—"

"Lizzie, relax … what is it?"

I could tell her voice seemed to be trying to be calm, but it seemed more nervous than calm. "The Circle's back."

* * *

><p><strong>I'm not even sure if that's a cliffy or not, cause I'm not sure if any of y'all thought about that, so ... whatever, lawl. <strong>

**Next chapter depends on the rate of reviews ... (; **

** ,  
>-S<strong>


	8. Revelations

**Hello there! **

**Well, since I got a ton of reviews from all you lovely people-thank you, by the way-I decided to write this. Now, I just wrote/finished this.**

**It's a pretty damn long chapter, and my favorite one so far. Why? You'll see at the end... (; **

_read on, lovelies-; _

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><p>As I sat down in the café on the corner of <em>Rue Paix <em>and _Avenue Lyon_, I was thinking. I was thinking about the phone call last night. I was thinking about Bex's threats to her kidnappers over the line. Most likely, her face was contorted angrily into a scowl, imagining every move she planned to do when she had a hold of her captors.

I was thinking of Macey's screaming. Her cries would be loud and sharp as it pierced the air, harming all of us as we could do nothing but listen in agony, waiting for silence either from fatigue or dehydration or … I couldn't even think about that.

I was thinking of Liz panicking about Bex and Macey. I knew she wanted nothing more than to come to Paris and help me rescue them. I knew that though she trusted me to a point to bring them back, she didn't trust me fully. She trusted herself, because she was determined to find her best friends. She trusted herself because that determination was driven by the fact that she had already lost me, and she wasn't taking this without a fight.

I was thinking of the Circle. I had never doubted they were back. We were spies, and spies don't give up easily. I remembered seeing Mr. Solomon's battered face as they lugged him through the tombs. I thought about Zach's mom, seated at an elaborate chair, as if she was a queen ordering her guards to round up the criminals to be sentenced to death.

Zach's mom … Zach. Zachary Goode.

Zach … I had seen him yesterday. That fact had only sunk in now. I had spoken to him yesterday … he _recognized _me yesterday. How? Bex and Liz hadn't recognized me. My own _mother _didn't recognize me. How the hell did _he_ recognize me?

"_Excusez-moi, mademoiselle, voulez-vous quelque chose?" _A petite waitress came up to me at the table, interrupting my thoughts by asking me if I wanted something.

"Oh, um, _un café, s'il vous plait—_" I skimmed the menu quickly, and … what the hell? _"Et une crème brulée._"

She looked at me up and down, giving me a look before she left, shaking her head in disbelief. Judging from the way she kept giving me looks, she was probably rolling her eyes at my breakfast: A coffee and a crème brulée. I needed the coffee (considering I didn't sleep at all the night before). I yearned for crème brulée (I missed that a lot from the Gallagher Academy) and since they had it on the menu and I was gonna pay, why not?

She returned shortly (It was 7am after all, who would be in a café at this time?), the dishes jingling as she set down the cup in front of me and the crème brulée with a spoon beside it.

"_Et aussi, une note pour vous._" She set down a napkin before leaving to the kitchen.

I added some cream and sugar, stirring my coffee and taking a bite of my crème brulée (not as good as I was used to, but it was still pretty tasty) as I turned over the napkin and read the loopy penmanship scrawled on it.

_When you're done eating your "breakfast", head to the alley. But take your time. Really. _

I rolled my eyes at their sarcasm as I gulped down the (extremely) hot coffee (not a very good idea, by the way) and spooned the last of the crème brulée into my mouth. I gathered all the dishes together before setting a few bills down, leaving her to keep the change, and set off for the alley.

The bell dinged as I whooshed through the door quickly. My footsteps were soft as they hit the ground, attempting to sneak up on whoever could be waiting, which was … no one.

The alley was completely empty except for some garbage cans. I walked further down before hearing a can clatter to the ground and felt a hand on my shoulder. Instinctively, I prepared to throw my attacker over my shoulder before he shifted his weight and kneed me in the back, swooping down to my ear and saying, "Not again, sweetheart."

I momentarily froze as the voice registered in my brain, as if I had the file in the deepest corner of my mind and I just uncovered it after the longest time. My instincts came back to me a moment later, reminding me to fight.

He grasped me forcefully, his arms around my shoulders, as if he were hugging me from behind when I wiggled to one side, and charged my arm to his groin. The feeling in my legs came back to me as I tried to run from them while he was doubled down, hoarsely commanding two others to get me.

I was fighting all three of them. Suddenly, a cloth was over my mouth as I remembered that familiar sickening smell. My eyes were drooping, darkness taking over until I fought off the cloth and started to spar again. Only one of them fought with me, leaving me in darkness again as another put on a bag over my head and bound my arms and legs, setting me in the back of a van. However, we didn't leave. Why weren't we leaving?

"Why are you doing this?" I heard one ask through their grunts of effort.

No reply, but I heard a smack and a thud.

"Help me here!" He ordered before I felt the weight of someone else beside me.

"Are they both out?" Someone else asked.

"Not sure." The other replied.

"Make sure!" The leader (most probably) barked.

And then after that … all I remember was a blow to my face, and then … black.

* * *

><p>I tried to open my eyes, but my eyelids put up a good fight. Eventually, I found the strength to open my eyes.<p>

_Who am I?_ I asked myself silently. _I'm Cammie Morgan, undercover as Anne St. James for the past five years. _

_Where am I? I was captured by the Circle. _

My vision was still blurry but I looked around at my surroundings: I was in a small room, completely dark with no windows but a door in front of me. I squirmed as I tried to get out of my bindings.

"It's no use, you know," I heard someone croak.

My head darted to the direction to where I heard the voice. I recognized it, it sounded like Macey McHenry, but as I examined closer … it wasn't Macey McHenry. It couldn't be.

Macey was one of the most beautiful people I knew. She seemed perfect: Her thick ebony hair framed her flawless face while she stared at you intensely with piercing crystal blue eyes. But this figure … one of her eyes was so swollen, it was completely shut; her porcelain skin was muddied with dirt, sweat, and tears, clinging to her bones; and her lips were extremely chapped. I recognized her blue eyes and black hair in the dark, but I was completely shocked as to her appearance now.

"M-Macey … what did they do to you?"

"Everything you could think of," She replied softly, not stopping to ask my name.

I was going to completely shed my cover. I didn't care anymore. I was going to go hug her and tell her that I was here, that we would be okay. But I couldn't because at that moment, the door opened when someone brought in another unconscious figure that I recognized: Bex.

He dropped her on the ground, as if she were nothing, before pulling my hair, forcing me to get up, and then gripping my shoulders strongly.

I was tired. Physically and mentally. I was tired of running. I knew what was coming. I knew that the Circle wanted me for a reason and that I needed to know what that reason was.

So that's why I didn't try to fight back, and I found myself inside a room that completely differed from the one I just came from. It was elegantly decorated with a modern couch and tasteful colors.

I saw her … she was just nonchalantly sipping her tea, as if we were two friends meeting up. But we weren't. I could do nothing but shoot her dirty looks as I sat on the couch quietly waiting for her to speak up.

"Hello there, Cammie."

I decided to stay silent.

"It's rude to not reply, you know that. I would've thought Madame Dabney taught you better."

"Forgive me if I don't feel like being polite right now, Ms. Goode." I spat.

"Oh, well, it's not something you can turn off. Like a spy, you can't stop being a lady." She took a sip of her tea. "Oh, where are _my _manners? Would _you_ like a cup, Cameron?"

"No … _thank you_." I added hesitantly as I saw her look.

"Well, Cameron, I say, you look so different now. Your hair, your eyes … goodness."

"Anne." I proceeded to elaborate as I saw the puzzled expression on her face, "My name is Anne."

"Oh, darling, I know. But I always thought Cameron Morgan was better than Anne St. James, don't you think?" She smiled.

"How'd you know?" I asked. "About me. My friends … even my own mother doesn't know that Anne St. James is Cameron Morgan. They think I'm dead."

She pretended as if she didn't hear me.

"Zach?" I guessed.

"No, sadly, my own son disowned me. He left." She said with a hint of sadness, but it faded quickly.

"I saw him … yesterday."

"It was actually two days ago … you've been out for a while." She commented. "However, we do have him though. He was trying to fight the grab team that came for you."

_So that's who I felt beside me in the van. _

"I'm so disappointed in him." She shook her head regretfully, "They say _Blood is thicker than water_."

"Where is he?" I asked impulsively.

"Would you like to see him? Oh, here, I'll get someone to get him."

I was glued to my seat as she pressed a button on a phone on the table. The door hissed open and in walked in a beaten Zach along with …

"Oh, dear, tsk, tsk, he's not in good shape," She remarked.

I didn't look at Zach, who sat beside me now, still out cold. I wasn't even looking at her. I was looking at the face of who brought Zach in.

_I knew the voice was familiar. _

"Oh, silly me," Ms. Goode scoffed, "I forgot to introduce you."

"Don't worry, I know him." I inhaled sharply.

"Hello again, Cammie." He smiled at me, like he did before.

I smiled back, just like I did. "Hello … Josh."

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><p><strong>Big cliffy or not? Did y'all see that coming? <strong>

**Lemme know in the reviews! (: **

**Remember: the rate of reviews determines when I update. _(More reviews, more updates!) _**

**Love you!**

**-S **


	9. Assassin

**Hey guys! **

**I am so sorry for the extremely late update. Writer's block, and plain procrastination was the reason for this. I am so sorry. Anyway, I'm definitely gonna finish this before the 6****th**** (when school starts) so, another two chapters, I think. Three, tops. **

**Anyway, **

_**Keep calm and read on-;**_

**Disclaimer – consider this officially disclaimed.**

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><p>The corners of his lips twitched into the smile I knew. Easy, like melting butter. I thought about sophomore year, when I risked my whole sisterhood for … him. A normal boy. Or so I thought. His smile gave me a little tingle up my spine, though I knew that it would be the last thing I ever felt for him.<p>

"Ah, you recognized Joshua." Ms. Goode eased back into her chair facing me.

"How long?" I heard myself croak out.

They wore the same confused expressions when my hazel met his blue icily, "How long have you been one of them?"

"Since he was twelve. It's a bit hard to break out of the family business." Ms. Goode answered.

Everything … was a lie. The normal boy who saw me wasn't normal. His parents who baked pies and ran a pharmacy … it was all part of their cover. I no longer felt guilty about anything … after all, I wasn't the only one who lied.

"Everything was a lie?" I exhaled sharply, careful to not let the tears swimming in my eyes spill over.

"Why, of course, dear." She said easily, without a hint of guilt, "It wasn't by chance that Joshua over here decided to come over and introduce himself. You're called the Chameleon. When you don't want to be seen, you aren't. It took a little while before he could even see you."

I studied him—he was still the same. Blue eyes, with wavy brown hair and the shadows of his long eyelashes could be seen on his defined cheeks. But he wasn't the same.

His eyes would twinkle at me when I was nervous; they would brighten when he saw me smile; they would stare into me, with a look like he never wanted to lose me. They were the thing I loved most about him. His eyes were hollow now—not twinkling or brightening. He stared with a thirst to see me suffer, to see me in pain.

"Well, you must be starving now, Cammie. I'll have Joshua escort you and Zach to your room. Dinner will be served in a half hour!" She chirped brightly.

The metal door creaked open loudly, to a different room than I stayed before. It was alike in terms of the layout, however this was empty.

Josh gripped mine and Zach's shoulders tightly and walked us inside.

"Thanks, Joshua." I spat while he spun on his heel, stopped for a moment, and walked out.

My internal clock was still rusty, but close enough to a half hour later, he showed up again with two trays.

"Dinner. I'll be back in twenty minutes." He growled.

My hands shook with hunger, wanting to stuff my face. The only thing that was on there was a dinner roll, some crackers, and a tiny shot glass of water. But no matter, I gulped it down within a matter of two minutes. My stomach ached a little bit, while I heard Zach stir.

"Ugh…"

"Zach, Zach, it's me."

He coughed, coming to. Though the room was dark, I saw his eyes open and drew some small comfort in the shade of brown I had come to know.

"They brought us some dinner. It looks quite lovely," I smirked sarcastically, "Eat up."

"Dinner roll, crackers and water? Nah. I'll ask for some steak. I do have some connections here."

The smirk was wiped off my face and I recoiled a few feet, my back against the wall.

"Gallagher Girl, I-I—"

I just gulped, my eyes darting to my fingernails, which I suddenly became interested in. He sighed, and started to nibble on a cracker.

And with that, our conversation died.

* * *

><p>We didn't talk. At all.<p>

Day after day, we drifted in and out of consciousness. We had little strength, considering they only gave us crackers and water once a day. Just enough to keep us alive, but not by much.

The silence was overwhelming. We sat beside each other, our backs against the wall. Sometimes, we found each other's heads on each other's shoulders, and we'd wake up suddenly, not saying anything about it.

I didn't know how long we sat in the room. A little past a week, I think.

It was Zach's turn to drift to sleep, his head leaning against my shoulder. And all I did was stare at him.

His eyelids fluttered open, while we shuffled to regain our positions, seated beside each other. As always, the only sound was the sounds of our breaths alternating.

"What's it like?"

"What?" He answered.

"Killing."

I didn't know where I was going with this, but all I knew was that I was tired of hearing nothing the whole week. Though I literally would've gone nuts if I was alone, having him there was only comforting in the fact that I had some company, though it seemed like there was an invisible barrier we didn't want to and could only break by speaking to each other.

He seemed taken aback, so I quickly started to say, "I-I'm sor—"

"No, no," He gave it some thought, "Well, I don't know what you mean by that…"

"Like, how does it feel? Don't you ever feel … guilty?"

His eyes bore into mine, and I almost shivered from his gaze. "All the time."

I didn't know how to reply, but I didn't have to as he went on, "You don't ever really forget it. Maybe that's only me, I guess. I'm not as … experienced as most of the people here."

I inwardly sighed in relief. I don't really know why. I guess maybe just to justify that the boy that I knew wasn't really ruthless and was still human.

"How 'experienced' are you?"

"…only one job."

I was shocked for many reasons right now—a) the fact that Zach had only done one job (I don't know whether or not if I was relieved that it was only that little or if I was upset he actually completed one.) and b) the fact that this was more Zach had been telling me about himself than I had known the past few years.

I found myself at a loss for what to say.

"Like I said, you don't forget it. Your first, and for me, your only kill. It's like you're a hunter and they're your prey."

He stared ahead, like he was digging through his memories, trying to recall, "You don't forget the way they seem so helpless while they're lying on the floor, begging for mercy. You don't forget the blood that pools after you finish them off. It's like it's always on your hands, and you can't get it off."

My stomach churned as I began to envision it. I didn't want to hear any more, but he went on and I couldn't stop him. And … sickeningly, there was a little part of me that wanted to hear more.

"There's always a little bit inside you that instantly regrets ever charging that knife at them …"

Then he looked at me again, his eyes so clear that you could see the pain and guilt he had been holding in, and instantly replacing it was the relief of finally having a burden lifted off his shoulders.

"But you know what the thing that disgusts me the most is?"

I stared back silently, waiting for him to continue.

"There's also a little bit inside you that enjoys it. You enjoy looking into their eyes, and watching the light leave them."

He paused, his fist clenching.

"As time goes by, the little bit of you that holds all the regret decreases to the point where the part of you that enjoys it replaces it fully … and you can feel yourself becoming less human, and just feeling … numb."

I just sat there, and he sat beside me, and I was starting to want the silence again instead of this. Then the door burst open, a burly man stomped in and grabbed me by the hair roughly, dragging me out of the room before I looked back at Zach, whose mouth moved.

_I'm sorry, _he whispered.

* * *

><p>I found myself in a tiny room (couldn't be more than 7 feet by 7 feet) that was concrete all-around with light suspended in the centre of the ceiling.<p>

"Why?" I rasped.

She stared back, her eyes the same as her son but couldn't be more different.

"Why am I here? Why do you need me? It's been how many freaking years—seven? How much longer will this take?"

"You don't get it, don't you?" She replied. "You know why you're here."

"IF I KNEW WHY I WAS HERE, I WOULDN'T BE ASKING YOU!"

Her eyes probed mine deeper, "You really don't know why you're here."

"Obviously." I scoffed before her palm met my cheek, leaving a red mark.

"Don't talk to me like that." _If looks could kill… _

She pulled up a chair and sat in front of me. "Do you know anyone named Anastasia?"

"No."

"Well, she was a good friend and colleague of mine. Until she met a man, ran off with him—"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Don't interrupt—and eventually, that man killed someone."

"And?"

She opened the small laptop she'd been holding this whole time, pointing the screen in my direction. "Here, I think this'll help."

_The camera seemed to be located in the corner. It was looking down at a figure bound to a chair. _

"Dad?"

"Shh, keep watching."

"_Well, Matthew, we meet again. How've you been?" The younger Cassandra Goode walked in._

_Dad looked up at her, his face bloodied and bruised. "Cassandra … I've been better." _

"_Oh, and how is dear Anastasia? Excuse me, I mean, Rachel. I forgot she goes by her first name now." _

"_She's been good … how about you?" His tone was casual, like talking to an old friend, even in his current situation. _

"_Well, truthfully, I've been quite down. You see, I haven't seen my husband in awhile. Why?" Her sarcastic manner was tinged with venom, "Oh, that's right … you killed him."_

_He ditched his casual tone for a serious one. "Cassandra, he was going to blow up an entire building full of world leaders. He would've started World War III!" _

"_I. don't. care. It was a job that we were hired to do. He was doing his job!" _

"_If he did his job, the whole world would pay!" _

"_So you killed him. That's why my son will grow up without a father." _

"_I … I'm sorry." He sighed solemnly._

"_YOU'RE SORRY? Oh, all's forgiven, of course. You just killed my husband and apologizing for it will magically bring him back to life! Really, Matthew?" Her eyes seemed to bulge out of her head. _

"_I can't do anything about it," He continued._

"_Exactly, but I can." _

_His head shot up, his face laced with confusion while the door opened to reveal a figure walking in. _

_Whatever weakness she showed before seemed miles away as she stared intensely at my father. "You see, it's only fair, right? An eye for an eye?" _

"_W-what?" _

"_My son will grow up without a father," She spat, "Your daughter will grow up without one, too."_

_A twelve-year-old Zach stepped from out of the shadows, his right hand inside his pocket while his gaze matched his mother's._

"_You see, honey," She placed her hand on her son's shoulder lovingly, "This is Dmitri. He works for the CIA, and what did I say about the CIA?" _

"_They don't care about us." _

"_Exactly. You see, this is one of their employees. And he's the reason why your father's not coming back." She whispered in his ear. "Just like I told you, okay, sweetie? You need practice."_

_The scene in front of me changed in a matter of seconds. My father was sitting quietly, waiting for what was to come and then … he was on the floor, lifeless. _

I wanted to look away but I couldn't. All those years, I wanted to know if or when or how he died.

And I found out.

My father was Zach's first kill.

Zach was the one who killed my father.

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><p><strong>Reviews are love. <strong>

_**Loveyouguys;**_

**-S**


	10. A Blind Shot

**Hey there guys, hehe (: **

**So before you guys go and throw things at me, I would just like to apologize for my complete disregard for this story. Honestly, I had this chapter written and I was seriously doubting if it was good enough. I built up this whole story, and this is pretty much the climax, and quite honestly, I'm not good at writing those. Then I forgot about it, and I just looked at it right now, and I added a few things, so hopefully it's better than I personally think it is. **

**Are you guys ready for this? Well, here you go, and once again, I'm sorry.**

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><p>The CIA's motto is <em>And ye shall know the truth, and it shall set you free.<em>

It's true, I suppose. I had wanted to know for years what happened to my father. And through all of the sadness and betrayal and hate I felt, there was a part of me that felt … free.

But that didn't have any impact on that though I felt free, it didn't mean I liked it.

"You're lying …"

"Sweetheart, I haven't lied. You saw it yourself; in the video … didn't you want to know?"

"No, no, no, Zach didn't kill him. Zach did not kill my father. YOU DID!"

"How on earth did I kill him? I had nothing to do with it." She replied.

I shot up out of my chair, and charged at her, pushing her up against the wall, my hand around her neck. I felt my grip getting tighter, and I liked it.

I knew what Zach was talking about now. The look in your prey's eyes fed your force. The anger you felt kept you from unfastening your grip around them. I tried to squeeze harder, with all my might, before the door opened and Josh pushed me back into my chair, while I tried to fight him.

She composed herself, and looked me in the eye, as if the whole scenario never happened.

"Oh, Cammie. You don't look it, but you are one difficult girl. That's why there was so much planning put into this. There were so many people intent on finding you."

The door opened once more to reveal a boy with sea-green eyes and blond hair walking in. Nicholas.

"Mr. Carter here really was quite helpful, but I suppose the Most Valuable Player award goes to…"

And then she walked in. We were friends (in the loosest sense of the word, I guess) more than that, we were sisters. But no matter what, it took all I had to not charge at her.

"Miss Fetterman really is the brains behind this whole operation." Cassandra Goode went on, "She orchestrated everything. Kept in touch with Miss McHenry, was updated on everything by Miss Sutton, she told Miss Sutton to tell you to meet Nicholas… she even called your precious friend, what was her name, Rebecca to meet some of her friends a few blocks away while you were meeting with Nick."

Anna stood straight on the wall, in between Nicholas and Josh, whose hand took hers lovingly. I saw their hands together and the look in their eyes and knew they were together. And at that moment, I wanted to set off a bomb in this room. I didn't care that I was in it, the fact that all these people would be in there with me was enough.

"And finally, all her hard work paid off. Thank you, Anna." She faced Anna and gave her a slight nod.

"You still haven't explained why you want me."

"Ah, you're right, Cammie. Well, your father took something from me… so I'm taking something from your father." She smiled maniacally.

The realization dawned on me, but oddly … I didn't care anymore. "Isn't it enough that you already took his life? You have to take me too?"

"Oh, dear, what he's done to me… to all of us! He's the reason why Zach has no father; he's the reason why Nicholas here and Joshua grew up as orphans! It's too much, Cammie, and you see … someone's got to pay."

Her lips turned up into an evil smile, and she turned away from me towards Josh, who handed her a gun. She nodded gratefully, and walked behind me, pressing the barrel against my head as my eyes closed.

I thought of everyone: My mother, Bex, Liz, Macey… everyone who was ever hurt because of me. I whispered a silent apology and a goodbye under my breath, as I prepared to have a bullet lodged in my skull.

I heard the safety click and waited for the sound of the bullet … but instead, I heard kicks and groans of pain as I opened my eyes to see Anna on the floor, out cold, and Nicholas sparring with Josh.

"Could use a little help here!" Nicholas said through grunts.

I was weak, but I tried. I managed a punch to Cassandra's head as she fell to the ground and the gun travelled to the other side of the room. Nicholas kneed Josh in the stomach and as he doubled over in pain, he grabbed my hand and the gun and led me out of the room.

We ran through the halls until I was out of breath.

"W-why … are you helping me?" I huffed.

He opened his mouth to answer but was cut off with cries of "CAM!" and "NICK!"

Bex and Macey ran towards us and tackled each of us with a hug. Bex hugged me tightly as I looked at Macey and Nicholas who were hugging as well.

"Uh, is there something you want to tell me?" My eyebrow cocked at the couple.

Macey and Nicholas's hands were intertwined as she looked at me and said, "This is Nick, Cam. He … he, uh…"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was in deep cover. I couldn't blow it." He said, "Sorry."

"He's been helping us this whole time. He even helped me while I was here." Macey smiled.

"Gallagher Girl!" Another voice said before I turned around and saw Zach running towards me.

I didn't know what to do. I wanted to hug him and say that I was glad he was alright, but … at the same time, I wanted to push him off a cliff and hope he wasn't.

"Gallagher Girl," He advanced as I retreated.

He reached for my hand. "Cammie, what's wrong?"

"Cam," Bex looked at me, "What happened?"

I ignored Bex and looked at him straight in the eye, "It was YOU! YOU KILLED HIM!"

I saw the realization hit him as he tried once again to reach for me.

"DON'T!" I yelled. "DON'T TOUCH ME!"

"Ah, well, well, well, what do we have here?"

We all spun to face Josh. My arms blocked Bex (who was momentarily confused as to why he was there) and Zach (though I don't know why) while Nicholas held Macey tightly.

"Nicholas, I must say, I'm quite disappointed and proud at the same time. I didn't know you had it in you to _betray _us." Josh said, sounding a lot like the male version of Cassandra Goode.

"I didn't betray you. I was never with you! _You _killed my parents, not Matthew Morgan." He piped up.

"And you're involved with … _her_, too," Josh went on, indicating Macey, "What ever happened to never mixing business with pleasure?"

Nicholas pulled Macey behind him protectively.

Josh shrugged, "Well, to each his own."

"Take me, Josh," I said, "You don't need them. Let them go, and I'll go quietly."

"Gallagher Girl…" Zach whispered from behind me.

"I won't use this knife," He started, taking out a knife from his pocket, "for a few seconds. Which is just enough time for your little friends to escape. Starting now."

I turned towards them, and hugged Bex and Macey quickly, "I love you guys so much, okay? Tell my mom I'm sorry."

"Cam, we're staying right here." Bex said while Macey nodded.

"No, you're not, just go. Get help. I love you guys." I repeated.

Eventually, Bex, Macey and Nicholas ran out, leaving Zach and Josh and I alone.

"They'll be taken care of by the other guards outside anyway." Josh commented.

"Your guards never had to deal with Bex." I spat.

"Enough of this." Josh advanced, "Come, Cammie. Let's go."

Zach's arm blocked me from Josh. "I'm still here, Abrams."

"Oh, Zach, who was it that always won our little sparring games? Me."

"Bring it on."

Punches and kicks flew as they started to fight. Zach knocked the knife out of Josh's hand and flew across the room. I was about to run to it before my knees gave out and my nostrils were filled with that sickening smell of chloroform. My eyelids drooped as my vision blurred and I struggled to find the knife before realizing I had taken the gun from Nicholas.

I spun around and I saw two blurry figures. I pointed the gun and I closed my eyes as I heard the trigger go off.

A grunt of pain.

A thud.

And then… black.

* * *

><p>"And that's exactly what happened?" Mom asked.<p>

"From what I can remember, yes." I replied. "I assume after, a rescue team came."

She sat down, looked at me and blinked.

"How did my mission go?" I asked, not really sure what to say.

"Your mission has been completed, I suppose. Operative McHenry is safe. We obtained a few bodies from the scene: Ms. Fetterman is in prison along with Ms. Goode; Mr. Nicholas Carter is undergoing some questioning though he may be free to go."

I nodded.

"Good job, Operative St. James." She stood up and walked to the door.

"I'm sorry, Mom." Most people wouldn't have heard me whisper it, but she's not the best spy in the world for nothing.

She walked out, the door closing behind her. I put my head on the steel table, before I heard the door open once more, and Mom peep through and say, "He's in the infirmary. Room 5837."

She always knew what I would think before I thought of it myself.

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><p><strong>Well, that's it. Not really it, cause I think there's one or two more chapters and then this story's done! <strong>

**I'll try and finish it before the ninth cause that's when I go back to school. And I do have some ideas for some one-shots which I will publish as soon as it's written, but probably not this month cause of exams and homework and such, like geez, I have a shizload. **

**But that's it, I suppose, so I really hope I didn't disappoint. **

**Please let me know how this chapter was in the reviews, and I shall update as soon as I can! **

**kthankyouguys ;  
><strong>**-S**


	11. Aftermath

**Well, hello there. 'Tis little ol' me, and I understand if you'd like to kill me. **

**I fully ignored this story a good two months, but here's the second-last chapter! **

**Hopefully, it's a good one :) **

**Considering that OUT OF SIGHT OUT OF TIME COMES OUT IN THREE DAYS, **I decided to celebrate** by uploading this :) **

**Anyway, **

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><p>The realization hit me. <em>I didn't kill him. I didn't kill him. <em>

My legs somehow made their way to Room 5837 of the infirmary. My knees buckled, my hands shook with every step I took before I found myself at the door.

I tried to prepare myself for what I would see, but no amount of time would be enough so … I went in.

His usually olive skin paled to a few shades darker than a sickly white, nearly matching the bandage wrapping his head.

He looked…dead. But the only thing not enforcing that idea in my mind was the slow, steady breaths you could hear if you listened carefully enough.

A nurse pulled up a chair for me on his left side, and I nodded my thanks before I sat down.

"He hasn't woken up yet. We don't know when …"

I nodded.

"Or if," she finished before I heard the sound of the door click shut.

"Zach…" I heard a voice say before I realized it was mine. It couldn't be mine, it was too sore, too gravelly, too … not me.

His hand was right there in front of me, as if just asking to be held. He didn't have anyone now. Just me.

So I took it, because as confused as I was about Zachary Goode, the part of me that kind of liked him couldn't see him so alone and lifeless.

The part of me that kind of hated him just didn't like feeling responsible for that.

His hand was cold, like I submerged my hand in an ice bath, but no matter, I still found myself drifting further and further to sleep, clutching it tightly.

As I regained consciousness, the sunlight blinded me and I wondered how long I was out—A day? Two?—before I noticed our hands were still intertwined. It didn't mean anything to me, it wasn't the time to think of anything even close to that now.

I don't know how much longer I sat there. Just staring at him, taking in every detail.

His long brown eyelashes. His lips, cracked but still full and pink. His nearly black hair, dusted with the lightest coat of dirt, unnoticeable if you weren't looking.

And then I felt myself get up and walk away from the room, as if the whole thing had never happened.

* * *

><p>I visited him often. I don't really know why, actually. Probably cause I didn't know what else to do. After I cleaned up a bit, I still wasn't allowed to work yet, but it was only a matter of time until I could.<p>

Weeks passed, and my brown roots were more prominent than ever, my eyes shades darker than my hair. But nothing about Zach changed.

It was a bit awkward to stay there and just do nothing. So I did what other people would do – I talked to him.

"Zach… um, hi. It's me." I began, not really knowing where I was going.

"Um, I don't really know what to say right now. This is so awkward. But you know what would make it less awkward? If you woke up. So, um, I guess that's what you should do. Wake up. Please."

His chest heaved up and down, but I couldn't detect any other movement.

"Um, I'm doing fine, I guess. My bruises are healing; I'm gaining back some weight… I'm me again."

As if Cammie Morgan could bring back Zachary Goode. Maybe she could, I guess it was worth a shot.

"Nobody's really talking to me. I guess they're mad about the whole thing. Bex is being stubborn as usual; Liz kinda hates herself because I was right there and she didn't even notice, though she swears she had some idea; Macey's talking to me the most, I guess. She's mad, obviously, but I guess Nicholas talked some sense into her."

I looked down at my fingernails, chewing on my lip. "Mom hasn't really talked to me. She's upset. But proud in a way. I guess it proved I was the Chameleon – that I couldn't be found when I wanted to be."

I was running out of topics to ramble on about. There wasn't really anything else to say.

"Um, I guess that's it. So, um, I guess I'll see you soon."

I got up and made my way to the door, about to twist the handle when I heard a rustle and some groans. I turned around, and sat back down in my chair.

"Zach?"

A soft groan.

"I gotta get the nurse, I'll be right back."

"Mm, no," he grunted. He moved around in the bed, groans escaping his mouth between his stretches.

"Zach, Zach, you're up." I said, breathlessly.

"Where am I?"

"You're in the CIA infirmary; you got, um, badly injured a couple weeks ago." I replied.

His eyes opened, and I had to restrain myself from either hugging or hurting him at the recognizable tint of brown, staring at me.

"W-Who are you?"

_Wait a minute. _

"Zach, i-it's me."

His eyes narrowed at me, "W-Who are you?"

I started to panic.

"Zach, it's me, it's Cammie, Cammie Morgan. C'mon, you remember me, you know me. You've known me since the tenth grade. C'mon, you remember. We met in Washington, when you tailed me during a CoveOps assignment and then, you came to Gallagher for a semester, and you kept bugging me the whole time and-and you kissed me and then - c'mon, Zach."

"It's me," I swallowed anxiously, "I'm your Gallagher Girl."

His face contorted into a mischievous smile, "I know, Gallagher Girl, I just wanted to hear you say it yourself."

I started breathing deeply, my fist meeting his shoulder, before guilt filled me when I heard his genuine cries of pain. "You suck, you know that. I was terrified; I thought you really forgot me."

"I could never forget you, Gallagher Girl." He smiled weakly, "I just wanted to make sure _you_ were back, not _Anne St. James_."

"I-I am."

He took my hand and kissed it gently, "Good. Cause I like Cammie Morgan way better than Anne St. James."

We kinda just sat there, in silence before I decided to break it. "So, um, uh, how are you feeling?"

"Alright, still in pain, but I'll live. How about you?"

"Good."

"Good."

"Um," I stood up, "I'll go get the nurse."

He didn't let go of my hand. "Wait, Cam."

I sat back down, "What is it?"

He gulped, "I know that what I did was wrong, and I know I can't ever make it up to you, but please. I'm so sorry."

I tensed up, my chest tightening. I wanted to yell, I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry. But I didn't do any of that. All I did was reply with an "Okay."

"Please, Cammie. You don't know how much I regret it. I've caused everyone so much pain. Especially you. I know there's nothing I can do about it, but please, Cam. Please don't leave."

I could hear the desperation in his voice, the vulnerability. I didn't know what to do. I wanted to kill him. I wanted to hug him. I wanted to know which one was the appropriate response. But most of all, I wanted to know how I felt about Zachary Goode. I didn't know a lot of things, but I knew that I would never know what Zachary Goode meant to me.

"Okay," I stood up, pressed the button near his bed to call the nurse. When she arrived, he looked at me with a desperate look and I looked at him back with an unknown one, before I turned around and headed for the door, not planning on looking back.

* * *

><p>I sat in the apartment for a while, thinking. I said one time that the heaviest things were the secrets—that they could drown you if you let them. But then, I realized that they weren't. The heaviest things were thoughts.<p>

Because when all the secrets are out in the open—and it is inevitable that they will be—all you can do is think. And if you weren't careful, you could find yourself sinking from all the thoughts you were thinking.

Luckily, I was saved from drowning in my thoughts by a knock on the door. I stood up, and opened it. "H-Hi."

"Good afternoon," Mom said, strutting inside while I closed the door and sat at the chair in front of her.

You could cut the tension in the air with a knife. That's how tense it was.

"So, um, what brings you here?" I asked.

"News," she replied easily, taking one of the candies from the dish on the coffee table, "You can come back to work now."

"Oh, um, okay, thank you."

"Just thought I'd come and let you know in person." She stood up again, brushed the front of her pencil skirt and extended her hand, "Congratulations, you are now an Operative for the Central Intelligence Agency."

I stood up, and shook her hand awkwardly before she turned back towards the doorway.

"Wait, um," I spoke up.

She turned back to look at me, "Yes?"

I ran, putting my arms around her and burying my face in her shirt. "I'm so sorry, Mom, I'm so sorry, I'll never do it again, I promise. I missed you so much, please don't shut me out."

My mom was the best spy I knew. That would never change. But I saw her try to recover from the shock, try to make her voice even as she put her arms around me as well, and say, "I missed you too, kiddo."

The tears started flowing then, and I don't know how long we stood there hugging, me crying and her rubbing my back and kissing the top of my head.

"Just promise me you'll never leave again, okay?" She looked at my eyes.

She didn't even need to; I knew that I never would. The Circle was gone. I was safe. Everyone I loved was safe. "I promise, Mom. I love you."

"Good, I love you too, kiddo," she kissed the top of my head, "Now, make the most of the next two days. You start Monday."

I nodded, gave her one last hug, before she left.

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><p>The next day, I went to see him. I didn't really know how it was going to go after the last visit, but I guess I just wanted to let him know that I could finally work again.<p>

I knocked before I opened the door and went inside. I expected an awkward "hi" from him. I expected him being tended to by a nurse.

What I didn't expect was an empty room and a note on the bed - the penmanship I had seen before written on a piece of Evapopaper before being washed off in the rain reading,

_I'm sorry._

_–Z_

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><p><strong>Last chapter will be up (hopefully) soon, as soon as I write it. The story's almost done, can you believe it? <strong>

**Can you also believe that this story has 92 reviews? Um, you guys are awesome, just letting you know. **

**I really hope you enjoyed this, please let me know what you think in the reviews along with... hmm, what the name of your last (or current) crush is! I don't really know, haha. :) **

**But the more reviews, the more motivation I have for writing! **

**That's it, I hope you guys will enjoy GG5 and all the new fanfics coming out based upon it! **

**dftba;  
>-S <strong>


	12. Jumping With Both Feet

**Hello, lovely readers!**

**T'is I, with another chapter for you to read and (hopefully, possibly,) review! Second to last chapter of this story-I think I've said that before, but I mean it this time-so yeah, that's kind of all I really need to say. I've been working on this for a while actually, just things came up that got in the way of uploading. So, yes, this is all. Hopefully you all like this! **

_keep calm and read on;_

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><p><strong>fast forward -; <strong>

**a year later. **

It's been pretty normal so far.

Well, as normal as things can be for some spies who: previously thought one of their friends was dead; went on a mission to save another friend who might have been dead; gotten captured; and fought their way out of the place where they were captured; and found out that that presumed-dead friend actually … wasn't.

Anna Fetterman, along with Cassandra Goode, were put into respective CIA cells and are being heavily watched by at least 5 guards at a time. They're not going anywhere for the rest of their lives.

Nicholas Carter had a hearing, and was later found innocent as he was a triple agent for Langley. Mom eventually offered him his previous position at the CIA, which he happily accepted as it allowed him to work with his girlfriend-turned-fiancée, Macey, who came back to work after a couple of months of well-deserved break.

The four of us were reunited, and like we had hoped, worked together on our missions—Bex and I became official partners on field missions; Lizzie was our little computer genius back at Langley while Macey decided to not go back into the field but still help us by being our handler and helping Liz.

All of our missions were successful, at least to a degree—one of them even catching Josh, who had disappeared after our last encounter, who also joined his little friends in a CIA cell.

I will admit that during those missions, I secretly did expect someone. I have been expecting someone to show up, for me to notice him or him to come back to me and give me some vague statement which would somehow help me.

It never happened. And truth be told, I didn't have the slightest clue as to where he would be. Except for that one day.

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><p>Despite being the daughter of a previous headmistress (at my spy school) who turned into the head director for the CIA (my current workplace), I never expected any special treatment.<p>

Like normal agents, as soon as I got a job, I was expected to get to work.  
>No one notices the new guy.<p>

However, being the daughter of a headmistress-turned-head of the CIA, who disappeared for five years, came back as someone else, got caught being that someone else while on a mission, and still returning as an agent for the CIA … well, that causes a lot of people to talk.

And you'd think since they live a life dedicated to secrecy and covertness, they would master the art of gossiping.

Every single day, as I walked in, I heard whispers of:

"_That's her, look!"_

"_No, turns out she was actually the Director's daughter." _

And some comments mentioning the name of a _certain boy_ were not unheard of. In fact, they were pretty common.

I inhaled deeply, tensing before I heard the security guard say politely, obviously trying to make up for those tactless co-workers of his. "Good to see you again, Agent Morgan."

"Good to be back," I smiled in return.

I was back. My hair had grown out of its black, back into its light brownish shade; as well as ditching my hazel contacts for my natural coffee eyes. And even though I had been here already as Anne St. James, that feeling of finally being here—finally making it into the CIA as Cammie Morgan—felt infinitely better.

I pressed my floor in the elevator, and made my way to Liz and Bex as soon as the doors opened. I found them talking quietly at Liz's desk, only to stop as soon as I reached them.

"Cammie!" Liz and Bex exclaimed in unison, smiling seemingly larger than normal.

"Okay, guys, for spies but you really suck at that."

"At what?"

"Acting nonchalant."

"What are you talking about?" Bex asked with fake naivety.

"Start talking about something so quietly even I can't hear it, only to stop once I reach you. And do not tell me that you smile like that normally, because even insane people do not smile as big as you guys did."

I crossed my arms, staring at them as they silently communicated through looks. Having been their best friend for the longest time, I can tell you they were probably saying,

"_She's onto us! What do we do?" _

"_Should we tell her?" _

"It's no use debating whether or not to tell me, guys. Just do it." I interrupted their unspoken conversation before being interrupted myself, by the sound of my mother's voice saying, "Cammie. My office, now, please."

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><p>I followed Mom into her office, sat down in that chair which I had sat down before with Liz beside me, receiving our mission to save Macey. Somehow, it felt like it was years ago rather than just a matter of weeks.<p>

Mom sat down in front of me, clearing her throat before saying, "So, how have you been, Cam?"

My eyebrows crinkled in suspicion as I hesitantly replied, "Fine…"

"Good," Mom smiled softly, "That's good."

"Mom, this isn't one of those Sundays where I'd come over for dinner and talk about boys. I know you've gotta tell me something; and judging from the way Bex and Liz are acting, you've told them already. I can handle it, Mom."

She nodded, knowing I was right. Then, after taking a deep breath, she began to say, "Do you remember Tina?"

"Tina? Tina Walters from Gallagher? Yeah…"

"Well, do you remember how her mother 'works' for that metropolitan newspaper as a gossip columnist?" I nodded and she continued, "She was in London on business, when she was watching on the news. She said that I should really take a look at a news story because it might be important to us."

"Okay…? Mom, if there's a point, I'd really like to get to it." I urged.

"Patience, Cammie." Mom said coolly, "So, I looked into it, and Tina's mom said I should get Liz to hack into the Emergency Services' database to retrieve an audio file from a previous caller. Would you like to hear it?"

"Do I have a choice?" I asked, as Mom double-checked the doors were closed and then turned to the computer, pressed some keys as the file started to play.

_"999, which emergency services do you require?"_

_You could hear someone sniffling softly, as well as clearing their throat. _

"_Hello? Is someone there?" _

"_I-I'm here." A voice rasped. _

"_Yes, sir, you called Emergency. What is the problem?" _

"_I-I can't do it anymore… I'm so tired." _

"_S-Sir, if you will just wait for a little bit, the police will be there—" _

"_I'm sorry, Gallagher Girl." _

_After a couple of seconds, you could hear a splash, then the phone hanging up. _

Mom clicked the X on the corner of the screen, and she turned to face me. I didn't really know what my face looked at that time, but I can tell you I did feel pretty nauseous. And shocked. But mostly nauseous.

"I-Is it really him?" I asked, trying to hold on to the possibility that he might still be alive. "Are-Are you sure it's him?"

"Multiple witnesses saw him do it, Cam. All of them have given descriptions matching exactly what we've released about him," Mom replied solemnly, "Liz also hacked into the satellite to view the images and it's an exact doppelganger for Zach."

"B-But was there a body? Did someone ID him?"

Mom got out of her seat and sat in the seat beside me, her hand holding mine, stroking it comfortingly. "He jumped into the Thames from the Tower Bridge, Cam. Any attempt at trying to find a body is completely futile. And even if there was a body to ID, no one knows of a Zach Goode. Blackthorne and its students do not exist; therefore any of its graduates don't either."

I didn't really know what I was feeling, but my eyes started tearing, which I guess seems appropriate. Crying works for all emotions—sadness, anger, happiness—but that didn't stop me from merely nodding at my mom, trying to gulp back tears, though I knew it was pointless. (She was my mom after all.) However, just cause you can cry, doesn't mean you should. Especially in a place where you are notoriously gossiped about.

"There's also something else…" Mom gulped nervously, before rushing to add, "I-It's not as bad as that, don't worry, kiddo," as soon as she saw the expression on my face.

"What is it?"

"The Board of Directors, myself included, have decided to hold a memorial—it's not just for Zach, however, he will be the newest addition to the CIA Memorial Wall. Even though he won't really be killed in action, we feel he deserves some recognition for helping to take down an evil terrorist group."

"So what does it have to do with me?"

"They would like you to write a eulogy for him."

"What?" I squeaked.

"I know it's asking a lot, kiddo, but … you were the best fit. No one else really knew him. You did." Mom touched my arm tenderly.

I sighed, knowing she was somewhat right, though technically speaking, there wasn't really anything more I knew about him than they did. Well, there is _that_ incident, which Mom doesn't know—otherwise she wouldn't be asking me to eulogize the man who killed her husband—however, it wasn't as if that was something personal, something intimate shared only between us two and no one else.

I didn't really know Zach; he just let me in more than other people … which still isn't saying much.

"Go home and rest, kiddo," Mom offered, kissing my forehead, "The memorial's in a couple of days, and you're on paid vacation until then, okay?"

I smiled softly, "Okay, mom."

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><p><strong>I am literally writing the last chapter as you are reading this-well, as I am typing this-and I am about halfway done, and I expect to upload it sometime next week, so look out for it. But maybe if you guys leave me lovely reviews, it'll motivate me to writeupload faster ;)**

**dftba; **  
><strong>-S<strong>


	13. Memories

**Hello! As promised, here I am, updating this story! I am done writing this entire chapter, but it turned out to be about 8 pages, so I decided to split it into three different chapters. I don't wanna bombard you guys with a huge 3000 word chapter because whenever I read those, it seems pretty daunting. **

**Anyway, I will add the 14th chapter momentarily-so by the time you're done reading this-it will be updated and finally over. **

**So:**

_keep calm and read on;_

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><p>The laptop was in front of me—a new window, just waiting to be written in as the insertion point seemed to blink faster every minute my fingers weren't pressing the keys, filling the page with my final thoughts about him.<p>

_C'mon, Cammie. Time to get to work. _

I must have sat there for hours, because I had made the effort to wake up early—possibly go on a little early-morning jog to clear my head (which never happened)—and now, the sun seemed especially bright, even through my closed curtains. The laptop screen stared at me—the blankness of the page taunting me, before I heard a knock at the door, followed by it opening to reveal three girls.

"Enjoying your house-key privilege, aren't we, Rebecca?" I smiled playfully.

"I would've gotten in here anyway, even if you didn't give me a house key." Bex retorted, "The key's just a formality. Even though I don't live here, I sort of do."

Liz and Macey came to join me in the living room while I could hear Bex rummaging in the kitchen.

"So," Macey asked from the couch across from me, her blue eyes piercing, "How much have you got done?"

I opened my mouth to ask what they were doing here in the middle of the day when they should be at work before Liz cut me off to explain, "We just wanted to see how you were holding up … we thought you might need some help."

"Ah, playing hooky, I see."

"Just like old times right?" Macey winked.

I smiled at those words, the memories still fresh—the chill in the elevators as we got deeper and deeper into the sublevels; the smell of Mom's (for lack of a better word) cooking; the failed attempts of whispering and stifling laughter during the middle of the night.

It was a different time, a different place, but with the same people, until I realized even that wasn't true.

Liz had lost some of her perkiness; Bex, her swagger; and Macey … she was still beautiful, but there was no mistaking the lack of lustre in her hair and the brightness in her blue eyes. She seemed especially well after the past couple of weeks—no doubt, due to Nicholas—but the slashes on her arms were enough to remind me that some things can't ever be really fixed.

As for me … where could I begin?

"Cam," Bex snapped me back to reality, "Cam."

"Huh, sorry, what?"

"You zoned out there for a minute," Liz smiled sadly.

"Yeah, I know Liz's stories about like, old spy history and the real truth behind the Titanic are boring—" Macey said before giving an innocent smile to Liz after she had said, "HEY!"

"Anyway," Bex, the voice of reason, said through a mouth of Cheetos, "You've gotta finish this. The memorial's tomorrow evening, and you've got nothing written down."

"I know, I know … Geez, get off my back, Mom." I joked, "I just … I dunno, I dunno what to say. What do these things usually say?"

"I guess start talking about how you met him and stuff – sappy moments about stuff, and talk about how you'll miss him," Macey suggested, "Then say, Peace out, enjoy the punch."

All three of us were looking at her while she shrugged, "What? I don't see any of you coming up with any ideas."

We chuckled before Liz turned to me, "It's a pretty good suggestion … well, minus the ending."

"Well, it's the only idea I got, so I guess it'll have to work."

* * *

><p>About an hour and a half later, I had about a half page written that I desperately wanted to delete because according to Macey it was too sappy but Liz said it wasn't sappy enough and I just really felt like ripping my hair out of my head.<p>

"Cam, you can't just delete it! After all the hard work we've done?!" Liz started to get really squeaky.

"Yeah, well, Rome wasn't built in a day," I reminded them.

"You're not building Rome – you're writing a speech. Or about to, at least."

"Hey, I'm sure the Romans built and rebuilt a bunch of times!"

Bex shot back with, "Well, at least Rome _was built_."

I don't really know why but I just started laughing then. It was the full on, sore-cheeks, stomach-hurting laughing. And pretty soon, I found Bex and Macey and Liz joined me after giving me a _wow-she's-psychotic_ look. It was like we were teenagers again, and the past years hadn't happened. But we weren't and they had, and most of all, I just couldn't help feeling guilty about it.

I stopped laughing. "This isn't right."

"Cam," Bex looked at me, "Are you okay?"

"No … I don't know." I shrugged, and sighed, "It's just … I felt like we were us again, you know? Like we were back at Gallagher and nothing happened …"

"Cam, there's nothing wrong with that …"

"But there is, Mace." I sat deeper into the couch, putting the laptop down onto the ground and hugging my legs closer to me. "While we're here laughing … he's just dead. Zach's just … dead."

They gulped as I could see them remember exactly why they hadn't gone back to work today. I tried to continue, but I didn't know how.

"I'm so confused about him…" I confessed quietly while they looked at me silently. Who was I confessing it to – to them? To myself? I didn't know.

It hadn't hit me that he was dead – and I got the feeling it never would. I'd always think he was out there, just waiting for the right time to appear, keeping a close eye on me. I guess once you get used to something, it never really goes away.

And even if it would hit me, what would I feel – Anger? Sadness? Resentment? Or even worse … relief?

I sat down, hugging my legs to my chest again. Liz's watch beeped, and she nodded to Bex and Macey.

"Cam … we gotta go sign out of work, but we'll see you tomorrow, okay?" Liz explained.

I nodded, "Okay."

They gave me a polite smile and headed for the door.

"Wait, guys?" I piped up.

"Yeah?"

I stood up and hugged all three of them at once. "Thank you. And I know I didn't really say it, but … I'm sorry. For disappearing like that."

"It's alright, Cam," Bex replied, "Only … promise us two things."

"Anything," I said as the three of them gave each other a look and silently came to an agreement.

"You won't ever leave again," Liz started while I interrupted to say, "Done."

"And if you do need to leave," Macey stopped to let Bex finish the thought, "You'll take us all next time."

I smiled, pulling them into another tight hug. "I love you guys."

And even though they didn't say it back, I knew they loved me too. They said goodbye and I shut the door, collapsing onto my couch again. I should've been writing, but instead I found myself slowly falling asleep.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! There are two more chapters, so please continue reading. You can review at the very end (if you plan on it, though I would love to read your thoughts) or each chapter, but there is a special place in my heart for those who review as much as they can. ;)<strong>

**dftba;  
><strong>**-S**


	14. Dead Man Walking

**Chapter 14 is up. **

**Warning - I'm not very good with fluff.** **I don't even know if you can call this (some of it) fluff.** **I apologize for any grammatical/spelling errors.**

_keep calm and read on;_

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><p>My eyes opened to see the sky had turned from blue to black with glittering stars, the curtains drawn acting as if it were framing the picture. I realized I had slept for awhile before realizing something else.<p>

I also got this … feeling. A feeling that I hadn't had in what seemed like years, but was so familiar that it was as if the last time I felt it, it was only yesterday. It was the same feeling I felt when I was on the plane to Paris for the mission, and the one I got in the women's washroom in the bar when I met Nicholas. And I knew, like usual, there could only be one thing causing it.

I rolled off the couch as quietly as I could before managing to crawl and stand up, my back against the wall beside my bedroom door. I breathed deeply, then spun to the open doorway and ran in, pushing him down onto the bed.

"I knew it," I looked him dead in the eyes, my hands gripping his shoulders tightly, "What are you doing here?"

He gripped my shoulders as well, then rolled over so that he was on top now, looking at me. "Well, you don't look at all surprised to see me. And I was expecting a little more enthusiasm … you know, maybe a welcome back party?"

"Oh, you want enthusiasm?" I smirked, then releasing my grip, used my hands to punch him in the shoulder and doing it again a number of times. I pushed him off of me, continuing to punch him, "You son of a—"

"Now, now, easy, Gallagher Girl," He recoiled, as my punches seemed to knock the wind out of him. But I didn't really care.

"YOU." Punch. "MADE." Punch. "ME." Punch. "THINK YOU WERE." Punch. "DEAD." Final punch which sent him back, doubled down, coughing. And that's when I noticed the blood on his shirt.

"Oh, my god, what happened?"

"Just a scratch," He winced, trying to hide the pain in his voice, "I'm okay."

I led him to my bed, where he sat down while I examined the cut on his chest. It didn't look too deep, but it had to be cleaned up.

"Ugh," I left the room and came back with a bowl of warm water and a cloth. I opened his shirt, dipped the cloth in the water and dabbed at the blood on his chest. "Make me think you killed yourself, and then come into my house, practically dead … you selfish bastard."

"Aw, you missed me," Even through the pain, he still managed to be as smug as ever.

"Don't get your hopes up." I wrung the cloth and cleaned the wound.

"You didn't seem surprised to see me." He repeated, subtly trying to be nonchalant though I knew he was genuinely curious.

"I just knew you weren't dead." I said, not looking up at him, "You were sloppy. That audio file of you calling Emergency Services – after you 'jumped', the phone hung up. Who would hang up the phone? My curtains were drawn, when I _knew _I closed them—" I stopped there. I couldn't tell him about the feeling I had. I'd be boosting his ego, which was high enough already.

"And?" Zach asked, "You didn't seem finished."

"I just … knew." I replied shortly. "I had a feeling."

_I hadn't cried yet, _I thought.

"Oh, your Zach senses were tingling?" He gave me his infamous smirk.

"You know, for a dead guy, it's amazing how full of yourself you still are."

"I'll take that as you missed me," He winked. I gave him a fake laugh, before punching him in the shoulder again. He winced and I left and came back to cover his wound with a bandage.

"Take it off."

"What?"

"Take it off," I repeated.

"Whoa there, Gallagher Girl, we gotta keep it strictly G-rated—"

"Your shirt, idiot. Take it off." I turned to rummage through my closet and tossed a jacket to him. "Wear this while I wash your shirt."

"Can't stop looking at me?" He teased.

"Just shut up and do as I say."

He winked again to piss me off, then took off his shirt, threw it to me while he put on the jacket.

"Perfect fit," He smirked before looking down and realizing something, "Wait … is this my jacket?"

"Oh, um, yeah," I said coolly.

"You kept it all these years?" He smiled.

I left to put his shirt in the wash and came back. "Well, don't feel special. I just haven't cleaned out my closet in a while."

He smirked as usual, and lay down on the bed. I decided it was time to interrogate him.

"So," I began, "Why are you here and not … you know, dead?"

"Why? Do you want me dead?"

"No," I replied instinctively, "I mean, what's up with the public 'suicide'?"

"Well, just cause you put away the head and her little monkey doesn't mean it's over. Some of the Circle was still out there. I just had to finish the job."

"That doesn't explain why you had to kill yourself," I pointed out.

"Well … some guys in the CIA had the same idea as me, and since we had a bit of a run-in and they recognized me as someone they were quite interested in interrogating—" He explained.

"You had to get off the grid by making them think you died," I finished.

He nodded his assent when I asked after, "Well, why'd you apologize to me and come here?"

I saw the boy in front of me change covers from Zach Goode, the spy to Zach Goode, the boy who had nothing else in the world. "I just wanted to make things right," he responded quietly.

_Going after the rest of the Circle, finishing my father's mission; saying I'm sorry before he plunged to his 'death' … it was for me?_

I gulped. "So, why are you here? Why'd you come back to see me?"

He stood up to meet my eyes, brown on brown. "I think you know why."

"If I knew," I breathed, not taking my eyes of his, "I wouldn't be asking."

He reached up to brush a strand of hair out of my face. "I had to say goodbye."

"What?" I stepped back a little while he stammered out, "Gallagher Girl, I can't stay here. I have to go on the move."

"But they-they think you're dead!"

"I have to hide. They might find me."

"I … I'll go with you." The words were out of my mouth before I knew I said them.

He smiled softly, stepped closer, closing the distance between us. I knew we were both thinking of that time years ago, when the roles were reversed—when I was thinking of running away, and Zach and wanted to come with me.

"You can't leave again," he reminded me, "I'm not safe, Gallagher Girl. There's nothing here for me."

"What about me?" I whispered, so quiet I thought he wouldn't hear me, but as he had always reminded me, he was a spy. In response, he pressed his lips to my forehead softly.

"So that's it? You're just gonna leave? Again?" I stepped back.

"Life isn't a fairytale, Gallagher Girl. Sometimes it is, but for spies? It's never a fairytale." He turned around, about to leave when I heard him whisper, "I'm sorry. For everything."

He was about to start to walk out when I spoke up. "I forgive you."

He turned back to face me. "What?"

"I can't not forgive you, Zach. You weren't the only one that killed … my dad killed your dad, too." I remembered the tape of my dad and Cassandra Goode, that fact only realized now.

I hadn't received the reaction I expected from Zach. I had expected him to be relieved. After all he'd done, just for me … I expected him to finally be at peace. Instead he stood in front of me, "No. You're not supposed to forgive me. You're not, that way I can leave more easily and I know you'll forget me and you let me go—"

"I can't," I admitted, my guard down after the longest time of it being up, "I can't let you go."

He stared into my eyes for the longest time until he swooped down, our lips meeting, his hands in my hair, pulling me closer to him. There was nothing but me and him and the kiss. I felt my stomach churning until we pulled away, our foreheads resting on the other, breathing deeply.

Zach kissed my lips lightly again, before he did what he did best. He left.

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><p><strong>Almost done! <strong>

**dftba;  
><strong>**-S**


	15. I'll Be Seeing You

**So, this is it. The last one. I hope that you lovely readers have enjoyed reading this story as much as I have writing it. Thank you for reading and all the reviews.**

_keep calm and read on;_

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><p>I don't know how I managed it, but the eulogy was written. Luckily, just in time too, because by the time I finished it to the point where I didn't want to incinerate the paper, it was time to get dressed and deliver the eulogy.<p>

I guess that knowing Zach wasn't really dead helped in writing his eulogy.

Bex, Liz, Macey, and I met up at my place, so we could carpool to the Agency. (We all struggled to see who would be driving, but the three of us agreed that Bex should not be driving as we planned on attending the memorial _alive_.) I didn't tell them about Zach, I didn't tell anyone. I don't really know why, but … I guess it was just because Zach had said goodbye to me, and only me, and I didn't want that to change.

By the time we got to the Agency, we made our rounds, greeting the families of those who now are just a name on the wall. After a while, Mom stood up on the podium, and spoke into the microphone, welcoming everyone and introducing me.

I felt myself walking up to the podium, clutching the paper in my hand. I gulped nervously. I was never any good at public speaking.

"U-um, hello, my name is Cammie Morgan. A lot of you may know me as the girl who was Anne St. James. But, um, I'm not anymore."

_Wow, this would be interesting. Did I even write that? _

"First of all, I just want to thank all of you for coming, and not to be taken the wrong way, I wish you didn't have to be here. I wish I didn't have to be up here either, giving a eulogy for the newest addition to the CIA Memorial Wall, Zachary Goode."

The audience was silent, while I continued. "I'll be honest. When I first got asked to write a eulogy for Zach, I didn't really know how to feel. I didn't know if I should feel sad he was gone, flattered that they thought I knew him well enough to give him a eulogy, but I was stumped."

"I did know Zach, but I'm not sure I really _knew_ him. I didn't know his favourite color, what he liked to do, his history. All I knew about this boy was that he was a bit of a cocky, sarcastic bastard who was a bit of an egomaniac."

Some members of the audience looked appalled and started whispering to the person beside them while I hurried to add, "I know that's not what you'd usually say in a eulogy – you have to speak kindly of the dead, conjure up fond memories of them so they can be remembered for the good they did."

"But that's the thing. He was all this and more, and yet … I still liked him. I may not have known him, but I know that underneath that egotistical bastard side of his, is a good person who worked to bring evil down."

"That's what they all have in common," I gestured to the wall behind me, the names of dead agents engraved on it, "They were all people who died for their country because they believed in good and fought to preserve it. They did so many good things, and I wish the whole world knew of what they did, like a fairytale."

Some members looked confused and I explained, "In fairytales, it's simple – good defeats evil, the good guy lives to tell the tale and is famous for the difference he makes. All is well and everyone lives happily ever after. But this is reality. Sometimes, good defeats evil and lives to see the effect his actions have on it. There's no such thing as a happily ever after."

"So that's why this wall exists. Because living as part of an Agency who works to protect the security of this country, it means that you live anonymously. You die anonymously, and your name is forgotten afterward. This wall gives us the opportunity to thank them, to remember them, to say goodbye to them."

I looked at Mom and the girls and they were smiling, so I took it as a good sign and continued to the end, "So to all these people on the wall, thank you for everything. And I'm sorry you didn't get your fairytale."

I smiled politely and walked off the stage into my seat, waiting until the memorial was over.

* * *

><p>The rest of the memorial was pretty much just walking around to different families, making small talk, enjoying the refreshments. After about two hours, everyone left, except for me, the girls and Mom.<p>

Mom had organized this, and I knew she needed help cleaning up afterward.

Macey and Bex carried off the tables to the storage room and Liz and my mom went to look for brooms and mops.

I was in charge of clearing tables—putting the appetizers back, cleaning up juice spills—when I heard footsteps from behind me, getting closer.

"Excuse me, miss," the male voice was Scottish, judging from his accent. Probably from Edinburgh.

"Yes?" I turned around to face him. A man with pure white hair, matching eyebrows faced me as well.

"That was a lovely eulogy." He remarked, "It was very grateful."

"Oh, thank you," I smiled back.

"The way you made out that Zach lad seemed very…"

"Rude?" I offered.

"Realistic."

"Oh, um…" What was I supposed to say to that?

"That part comparing reality vs. fairytales was particularly my favorite." His smile reached his eyes, which seemed to be squinting at me, magnified through his glasses. "I was wondering how you thought of that."

"Um, a friend helped me think of it."

"Must be a very smart lad." He commented.

"I guess you could say that."

He spun on his heel, walking away from me. "Tell me, Miss Morgan, do you believe in fairytales?"

I looked down, smirking to myself when I yelled out to him. "You know, you never were any good at a Scottish accent."

He turned again, this time facing me. I walked up to him, took off his glasses and stared at his familiar brown eyes. And I knew, that even though I wouldn't be able to see him, I would see him. I knew I'd run into him during missions, maybe in the park. I guess I did know Zachary Goode, and I knew he couldn't stay away.

I knew myself—I knew that I wouldn't just _see _him, I would be _looking for _him. He may be hiding, but I knew I would seek him.

"Cam?" Bex called out, "We could use some help here!"

"Coming!" I replied, not taking my eyes off his. It seemed like time stopped because we were just looking at each other, until I broke the trance and started to walk away from him.

"I'll be seeing you," he said.

"I'll be waiting." I walked away from the room before I realized I forgot something. I walked back, saw him standing in the middle of the room and I piped up again.

"To answer your question … no, I don't believe in fairytales." I channelled him with a smirk, and proceeded to quote him, "We're spies. We don't get fairytales."

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><p><strong>And with that, this story now goes from "In Progress" to "Complete".<strong>

**Thank you again for reading. I love all of you dearly. **

**Also, do not think I am going away. I do have plans for writing a new story about Gallagher Girls. Zach x Cammie, obviously, but it's an AU story and doesn't really follow a plotline. **

**It's just going to be a collection of oneshots in the lives of Zach and Cammie, regular teenage best friends. If you'd like, please give it a look once I've started it. ;) **

**Alright, thank you (again). I'm sorry for all the thank yous. **

**don't forget to be awesome;**  
><strong>-S<strong>


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